


For Lack Of A Better Title

by amazingrace24



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, M/M, Sibling Incest, a tiny bit in the beginning ish, actually i changed my mind, assuming i see this through to the end, but after that, like there's pretty much no romance right now, pretty slow burn, there is pretty much no romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingrace24/pseuds/amazingrace24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old habits die hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Oddity In And Of Itself

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for the 0nederful 0netype and decided to turn it into a full-fledged fic, so here's this. Started on my tumblr and moved it to here. Uh ... I don't know what more to say so ... enjoy! 
> 
> Oh wait one thing. I'm not someone who updates regularly exactly so I apologize ahead of time for any really long absences. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Guess who’s back? 
> 
> Hahah, so, what I’ve done is gone back and edited and kinda rewritten some (a lot) of this fic that I posted before. I probably still won’t be getting many new chapters out soon, but I figured I would do at least this to let you know I’m still alive lol. 
> 
> I will say, DEFINITELY RE-READ THIS if you read it before. If you’re anything like me you’ll do that anyway because you’ve forgotten what happened during any of it. But even if you sold your soul to satan for super memory ability, I feel like I made enough changes to warrant a fresh read-through. 
> 
> Thanks if you’re still checking back on this, and if you’re just discovering this you can ignore all of that. Anyway, enjoy!

"Hey boss, what's for dinner?" 

Sans strolled casually down the stairs sporting the stained t-shirt Papyrus hated so much, but it was a lazy afternoon after a rather lazy day at work in the ill-fitting uniform he was forced to wear - he was going to change into what he wanted. If Papyrus hated it so much, he could forcibly remove it himself. 

Halfway down the staircase Sans paused, hand resting lightly on the banister, at the sight of his brother sprawled out on their lumpy green couch. That was a rarity in and of itself considering he hated being idle - he’d have been much less surprised to catch him doing pushups on the kitchen table - but what really had Sans stumped was the fact that Papyrus was asleep. Deeply, if the slow rise and fall of his chest and guttural snores emitting from him had anything to say. 

Sans was careful not to make too much noise as he continued his descent, cringing at every loud creak. If Papyrus was sleeping before dinner it was very likely that something bad had happened during his training, and as much as he wanted to eat, he did not want to be on the receiving end of whatever pent up rage his brother couldn't take out on his superior. 

Sans stopped again at the bottom of the steps. He'd come down to bother Papyrus, had expected to find him bustling about the kitchen as usual, but that was clearly no longer a viable option. He couldn’t turn on the TV, and Asgore forbid he try and cook himself. There wasn’t much else to do in their house, so really he had no other reason to be down there. He fleetingly entertained the idea of going into town to buy groceries just to get on Papyrus' good side but ...

It wasn’t worth the trip. If worst came to worst and Papyrus woke up in a foul mood, he'd just avoid him. It wouldn’t be anything new.

With nothing better to do, Sans climbed back up the stairs, still doing his best to keep to the edge to avoid the noisier boards. He stopped once more at the top of the steps in front of his brother's door. The only thing adoring it were seven red letters that stood stark against the black background, which was more than he could say for his own. He’d passed the door without thought countless times, but for whatever reason, in that moment he felt compelled to stand before it. 

He'd only ever been in the room a handful of times, none of which he'd had the time or the capacity to focus on minor details. In fact, only once had the room not been in total darkness, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't even the least bit curious as to what it looked like. They had, after all, been living in that house for several years. It was a bit strange that there was still a room he hadn't seen.

He glanced over the balcony at his brother's sleeping form. The taller skeleton sighed, but otherwise showed no signs of consciousness. Sans ran a quick and rather short list of pros and cons through his head. If he took a look inside, he’d finally be able to satiate the itch of curiosity over its contents, and maybe, if he was lucky, learn a thing or two about the brother that he knew surprisingly little about considering the nature of their relationship. On the other hand, not only could he likely find a much better time to explore, he would be seriously risking his safety just by touching the doorknob, and it wasn’t like he had much HP to spare. 

Curiosity or his life. It was a much easier decision to make than it probably should have been. 

After one glance back, in one careful motion he turned the handle and slid his way in through a narrow opening. By the light from the hallway behind him, he took a cursory peek around. There really wasn't much to look at. It was about as tidy as he'd expected - bed tucked neatly in, floor devoid of clothing, or any stray items for that matter. In fact the only things that seemed to be touching it were the bed, two desks, and a bookshelf. Even the door was perfectly silent on its hinges, which of course worked to his advantage. Much unlike the squealing, splintered-beyond-repair hunk of wood he called his own. 

He stopped himself from flipping the light switch, thinking better of it. If he left the door cracked open instead, he could just use the light from the hallway. 

Yet on second thought, he closed it completely with a soft click. If it came down to it he could teleport to his own room, hopefully without his brother noticing, but if he left the door open there was no way Papyrus would miss it. He never left his door open.

And so, by the crimson light of his magic Sans began exploring. He took a careful step in, thinking of the stairs and the age of the house, but Papyrus’s room seemed almost unnervingly flawless. 

It was carpeted, a detail he’d never noticed before. His own room had old, faded hardwood flooring, but was filled with so many stray garments it may as well have been carpeted. There was also a giant rectangular rug covering a good portion of Papyrus’s carpeted floor. It seemed redundant to Sans, but who was he to question. 

After getting over his initial impression, he ventured over to the bed. It took him a second to realize why the shape of the frame looked so strange. It felt even stranger that up until that moment, he hadn’t known his younger brother owned a race car shaped bed. Sans definitely thought he’d have noticed it either in the handful of times he’d been on it or in the actual bringing of the thing into their home. A bed frame seemed rather difficult to sneak in. Then again, he did spend most of his time locked away in his room, especially back when they’d first moved in. 

He ran an absent hand over the surface of it. The one thing he did know about it was that the sheets were silk - where Papyrus had managed to get them, however, would always remain a mystery. He’d wanted for so long to curl up inside of it, but there was no way he’d get away with that. Even the few times he’d been allowed in there, he’d always been kicked out soon after, leaving no time to dwell in it’s cool, smooth comfort. 

Shaking off his longing, he made his way carefully to his knees to kneel on the floor beside the bed. A scan of the space beneath it revealed nothing save for a single black bin. He was even more thankful than before for the carpeted flooring as he slowly dragged it out. It turned out to be filled with color coded notebooks filled with blueprints for traps filled with the most unlikely objects a human could expect to encounter. A pit filled with a crude sketch of what appeared to be ... lasagna?

Sans shook his head, filing that information away for who knew what, and carefully arranged the notebooks back in the order he'd found them before sliding the bin back underneath the bed.

A muffled thud from somewhere in the house had Sans on his feet in record time, eye flashing, prepared to make his exit. How he’d managed to miss his brother coming up the stairs he wasn’t sure. Of course Papyrus could be could be as stealthy as a cat when he wanted to, but generally when they were inside the confines of their Snowdin home, Papyrus found plenty of reason to practice his authoritative, intimidating walk, audible from a mile away. That was, Sans supposed, the point. 

There was no sound following the thud however. Once he got rid of the knot lodged in his throat, he was able to think clearly enough to realize that it was more than likely the new washing machine Papyrus had found in the dump. He clutched at the hem of his worn shirt, recalling with displeasure the day his brother had lugged the thing home, somehow managing to fit it through the door. He’d made Sans get it into working condition, a task that had taken him longer than necessary, if only because he was feeling spiteful. Maybe a machine that endorses your lazy ass will motivate you to clean up for once, Papyrus had berated, which had only ensured that Sans wouldn’t be caught dead using it. Papyrus at least found it easier to do laundry in between his duties as second in command of the royal guard and yelling at his brother, so it wasn’t a complete waste.

Rubbing his clavicle with the heel of his palm, Sans decided to stay on his feet for the duration of his little treasure hunt, just in case. 

The next thing to catch his eye was a glint on the desk beside the bed. A few careful steps later he was standing before a neat lineup of figurines, one of which he recognized upon closer inspection. He counted seven total, including the one he’d given Papyrus when they were just children. It was a rare gift he’d found in the dump at a time conveniently close to the holidays. A small grin borderlining a smirk crept its way up his face as he caressed the object. He thought Papyrus had gotten rid of it ages ago, but apparently he was wrong. He couldn’t help the subtle glow that emanated from his chest at the thought of his hardened brother keeping such a seemingly insignificant token for all those years. 

Things had been so different back then, when Papyrus still relied on him for safety and comfort. It was strange to think about just how far they’d come situationally, juxtaposed with how little progress they’d seemed to make regarding their relationship. They’d taken a strange step diagonally perhaps, but it was nowhere near ideal. Still, he’d take what he could get. 

Setting the figure down softly, Sans moved to the bookshelf. There was surprising amount of books filling the shelves considering both the nature of the world they lived in as well as the fact that Sans was pretty sure he’d never seen Papyrus read. But a look inside one novel showed a page covered in Papyrus’s neat, unmistakable handwriting. This exploration was turning out to be even more educational than Sans could have hoped for, which was both exciting and sad when he thought about it. 

He slid the novel back into place then turned on his heel toward the last unexplored part of the room. The closet door was just as silent as the front, and after a brief pause to listen for any noise, he pulled it the rest of the way open. Neat rows of various clothing filled the hangers, a lot of which Sans had never even seen his brother wear, not to mention he had absolutely no idea where they'd come from. Much of it looked too nice to be from the dump, not that his brother would be caught dead searching for clothes there. On the inside of the door was a hook with a sturdy looking frame below it, presumably to hold Papyrus’s armor. Other than that there wasn’t anything particularly interesting.

Sans was about to turn away when he noticed a small black box sitting in the corner on the floor, half hidden beneath a particularly long … shirt? He carefully moved the garment aside and lifted it the box from its spot, examining it with tentative curiosity. There was a silver lock on the front, yet as far as he knew his brother wasn’t the type to hide his belongings; he tended to take pride in everything he owned, and it wasn’t unlike him to flaunt it. Of course the box wasn't exactly hidden, per say, just sitting in the corner of a closet as opposed to all of the other possessions Papyrus had displayed on his shelves.

The rough textured sides felt like they’d be soothing to run his phalanges against, something to dampen his anxiety. At the moment, though, it was much too loud, and he wouldn’t dare take it from the room. There was no way Papyrus wouldn’t notice something missing or out of place. Hell, Sans wouldn’t be surprised if he came barging out of his room later, shouting about footprints in the carpet or something equally unsuspecting.

Sans considered shaking the box but that seemed a bit too risky. He wouldn’t get away with breaking something inside. He opted instead for a search for the key.

Box still in hand, he turned back to face the room. The desk drawer in front of the computer was as good a place as any to start, though knowing Papyrus it’d be more well-hidden than that. Still, he pulled it open, careful not to rattle anything inside. He was only able to get it part of the way open before he heard the sudden sound of their television start from the living room. 

This time the spike in his soul’s pulse was justified. He didn’t have much time to think about the fact that Papyrus usually watched television later on in the evening as he darted back to the closet, making sure to reposition the box as he’d found it and shut the door as softly and swiftly as he could. The moment he felt it click into place, with a flash of his eye he teleported back to his own bedroom, soul knocking against his ribcage almost painfully. 

He didn’t get a moment of respite upon sitting down, only a sinking dread when he realized he’d left the desk drawer slightly ajar in his rush to put the box back. To any other monster in the Underground it wouldn’t have set off any alarms, but his brother was very particular, annoyingly and inconveniently so sometimes. An open drawer was exactly the sort of thing he’d notice. 

Papyrus was bounding up the stairs before he could go back to fix his mistake. In a flash of panic, Sans called out, trying to catch his brother before he entered his room.

“What?” was the harsh response he got, but at least he hadn’t heard a door open yet. So far, so good. 

The only problem was that he didn’t actually have anything to follow it up with.

“I don’t have the patience for you right now, Sans, if -”

“Wait wait, c’mere a sec.” Sans silently cursed himself before straightening his face. He supposed he’d rather deal with an annoyed Papyrus than an angry one. He heard a sigh, then, surprisingly, footsteps approaching his door.

He’d have to think quickly to fix this. 

Sans still jumped when the door opened, despite, or maybe because of the fact that he’d done it so softly as opposed to his usual brash entrances. It took him a second to realize he was staring instead of acknowledging Papyrus’s visibly growing irritation. 

“So, uh, boss,” he started. 

It was then that he really took in the taller skeleton’s face. He looked haggard and worn, dark circles under his eye sockets. Sans couldn’t recall a single time he’d ever seen Papyrus looking so exhausted. The guy barely even slept, but never before had he shown it. But the glare he was receiving was enough to keep him from commenting. “I was, uh … thinkin’ we could … you look a little … so …”

“Spit it out,” Papyrus interjected pinching two gloved fingers between his brow bones.

Sans breathed a short laugh and rolled his eyes at what he was about to suggest. It could very possibly be suicide, but since when had he been afraid of death? At least it was something. There were few things Papyrus hated more than floundering conversation.

“How about I help you relieve some stress?” he drew out with a slight shrug, wince involuntarily taking over his expression. He had absolutely no clue what he was doing. He could only expect the worst, which was what made his brother’s response all the more baffling.

“No thanks, I’m not in the mood,” Papyrus replied after a beat.

Sans sat there, eyes widening slightly, thinking that there were at least a couple of things wrong with hearing that statement come out of Papyrus’ mouth. For one he’d taken question seriously - Sans had expected at the very least an eye roll or an exasperated sigh, neither of which accompanied the answer. Then there was the fact that he’d used the word ‘thanks’ while addressing Sans. He’d have been thrilled if not for the oddity of the entire encounter.

There was no time to dwell on it before his brother was speaking again. “Was that all? I’m very busy -”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “At least come, um, come shoppin’ with me. I’ll uh … make us dinner tonight.” As if Papyrus would let him even if he wanted to. “But I need you there in town in case the, uh … in case somethin’ … happens?”

That time Papyrus sighed, and heavily. He sagged against the doorframe looking uncharacteristically exhausted. Sans began fidgeting with the sheets on the bed beside him, doing his best not to react. The moment was brief. Papyrus was back to his normal expression almost instantly, cold and guarded. “Fine.”

It was at that point that Sans began to worry. No protest, not even an insult or two, just … resigned compliance. 

Sans wasn’t sure if he could get away with addressing it. In the end he decided not to risk it, just smiled tersely and grabbed his jacket off the floor.

Papyrus pushed out the doorway and started back towards the staircase. Just as Sans was passing through his door frame, Papyrus stopped at the top of the steps to face his own room. 

“Boss what are you doin’,” Sans asked a bit too quickly. But if Papyrus noticed he didn’t let on.

“How do you expect us to pay?” he asked, the annoyance thick in his voice.

In a rash, split-second decision, Sans answered, “Don’t worry, I got us covered.” He did not, in fact, have them covered. Sans flashed what was really an empty wallet, feeling a wave a relief rush through him when he wasn’t told to prove it.

Without another word, Papyrus turned and descended the stairs, making his way to his boots by the front door. Sans followed suit, internally sighing and hoping what he was about to do wouldn’t get him in too much trouble. Getting away scot free would also be nice. Unrealistic, but nice nonetheless. 

He waited for Papyrus to exit, then walked out himself, closing the door behind them. It was as cold a day as any in Snowdin, a biting chill seeping into his bones despite the thick jacket he wore. They proceeded into town in silence, not comfortable but not exactly tense either. It was silence, that’s about as much as Sans could say. 

He hardly paid any attention to the few monsters passing by, not that any of them would dare glancing Papyrus's way. It was as quiet a day as any too, nothing but the whistling breeze and the pleasing squelch of snow beneath their shoes to fill the empty space. 

The library windows were boarded up as usual, the result of a series of break-ins that had occurred just earlier that year. Sans was just surprised it hadn't happened sooner. 

When he thought about it, Snowdin had always been a relatively safe place, at least compared to the rest of the Underground. It was surely the only location children could be seen roaming the streets, even as rare as it was. The fact that it could happen at all spoke volumes. 

It was a short walk to the shop, only a few minutes passing before they were approaching the entrance. It was then that Sans casually slipped his wallet from his hoodie pocket, feigning surprise when he opened it and “discovered” that it was barren.

“Well shit,” he said loud enough to catch his brother’s attention. “I just remembered I spent my last g's at Grillby’s last night,” he chuckled nervously, flashing the useless leather pouch in his hand. 

Sans could hear the squeak of Papyrus’s glove as his fist clenched sharply by his side. “Sans I swear if we’re here to waste my time -”

“No no! It’s alright, I’ll just, uh, run home and grab yours, and you can start shoppin’ without me or somethin’. Or just wait here, I know you’re tired.” He was rambling, which didn’t go unnoticed by Papyrus if his stormy expression had anything to say about it. “I’ll take a shortcut. Where do you keep yours? Your wallet, not your shortcut,” he added with a painfully awkward chuckle. Sans of course already knew the answer - it was on his dresser next to the figurines.

Papyrus took his time and answered cautiously. “Beside my bed,” he forced out a beat later with, once again, surprisingly little resistance. 

“Got it.” Sans wasted no time preparing himself to teleport, but Papyrus’s hand darted out to catch his wrist firmly before he could leave.

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” Each word was punctuated with a not to subtle tightening of his grip. 

Which came almost as a relief, really. Finally some normal behavior from his brother. It wouldn't be the first implied threat he'd received, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last. It seemed, at least for that moment, that they’d returned to a familiar playing field. 

“Sure thing, boss.” 

He flashed a tense grin before winking out of his brother’s grasp.

 


	2. How To React When You’re Reacting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I just wanna reiterate, please do re-read the whole thing if you read it the first time it was posted, there are a few details that might make an impact once I start posting new chapters. Thanks, enjoy

That entire exchange had gone significantly better than Sans could have hoped. Getting left with hardly more than a warning was practically a pat on the shoulder. 

He teleported right outside their front door, startling a passerby who scurried away. He paid them no attention as he walked up the front steps and entered the house. It didn’t fully register until he was inside and leaning against the door that neither of them had remembered to lock it upon leaving. That was concerning in and of itself - although any intelligent Snowdin residents knew better than to attempt to break into the home of second in command of the Royal Guard - but the added fact that even Papyrus had neglected to secure their home was worthy of alarm. 

Sans took a deep breath, leaning back against the door as he closed it. There were a troubling amount of oddities within the last hour to sort through. First, he’d found Papyrus sleeping in the middle of the day, and on the couch he hated even sitting on no less. Not to mention he looked especially spent. Then, after what Sans was sure was a very poorly concealed excuse, Papyrus hadn’t lashed out or even called him out once. Had agreed to go out with him with nary a protest. Then to top it all off, he’d given Sans - Sans - explicit permission to enter his room. Any other given day Papyrus would claim offense just from breathing the same air as him, and they didn’t even technically have to breathe. 

But he could worry about his brother’s state of mind later; said enigma was still waiting for him to return with a wallet, and every moment he wasted was another reason for his brother to reprimand him. Assuming that he would even react, considering the way he’d been acting so far. 

Sans felt behind himself to lock the front door before proceeding up the stairs to Papyrus’s bedroom. Despite being alone in the house, he couldn’t help but feel jumpy as he pushed open the door. At least now Papyrus couldn’t use footprints in the carpet as proof of his unwanted presence. 

With a shiver Sans stepped the rest of the way inside and made his way over to the desk. As much as he wanted to slam it shut, get it over with, he took his time closing drawer that had caused him so much unnecessary anxiety, trying not to rattle anything inside. His primary task complete, he crossed to the table of figurines and swiped the wallet off of it. One last sigh - he seemed to be sighing a lot that day - and a glimpse around, and he teleported back to the shop. 

Papyrus was still waiting outside, arms crossed, staring straight ahead into space. He startled when Sans appeared beside him, brandishing the wallet like a prize.

He snatched it out of his brother’s hands and walked briskly into the building without giving him a second glance. All Sans could do was follow. 

He ended up being less helpful than he’d intended, but there wasn’t much else to do but stand and wait. Papyrus did all of the negotiating, purchasing ingredients for the only thing he actually knew how to make, not that he’d never admit that out loud. “Lasagna is a fitting dish for the Great and Powerful Papyrus: many complicated layers, just like my traps.” At the very least he’d come to perfect the dish so Sans no longer had to suffer through meals he was sure were meant to poison him.

Shopping finished, Sans followed several paces behind his brother, same as always. That was perhaps the first thing Papyrus had insisted on when they moved to Snowdin, a supposed show of his dominant nature. Sans wasn’t sure how effective it actually was, but at that point they hadn’t been on the best of terms, and the residents of Snowdin seemed to leave them be, so who was he to question it. 

If there was one thing he loved about Snowdin other than its relative safety it was the way the white all around them always seemed to wipe his mind clean whenever he walked outside. He could shove his hands deep into the pockets of his oversized jacket, drag his feet and watch them make tracks in the snow, or stare up at the cavern ceiling and let his mind drift to thoughts about the surface or nothing at all. It was a welcome break from worrying about being found or when their next meal would be.

Not that he walked outside all that often. He was still small and nothing would change the fact that he had only one hp, and despite what solace it provided, Snowdin did have its dangers. 

They weren’t even halfway to their home when Papyrus stopped abruptly and took a knee, clutching the collar of his breastplate like a lifeline while the paper bag of groceries in his arm fell unceremoniously to the ground. 

Snapped out of his daze, Sans rushed to his side. He was hesitant to touch him, unsure if he should try and help him up or if that would only make things worse. After a second of rather uselessly holding up his arms, he ultimately chose to hang back but hover closely. Thankfully, a glance around confirmed that there were no monsters hanging closeby and watching for some easy prey. 

A short motion caught Sans’s eye, and he looked back down to find Papyrus holding up a hand. “I-I’m fine, Sans, I’m fine,” he snapped. But there was no way Sans could miss the strain in his voice and the ragged breaths he was rather poorly concealing, let alone the agonized grimace on his face that spelled out nothing but pain. 

Sans flinched at his bark but came no closer, only watched as his brother struggled to push himself to his feet. In the next moment he was gathering up the fallen groceries, straightening out to his full height again, ironing out his expression, taking one slow, deep, concentrated breath, then starting off again as if nothing happened. 

Sans stood there a moment, brow furrowed, more than a bit stunned. He itched to check his retreating brother’s soul, but there was no way that was happening without Papyrus noticing. Even if he found something, Papyrus would no doubt lash out in the middle of the street without any regard for passersby, and Sans wasn’t prepared to deal with that at the moment. 

Looking at Papyrus’s retreating form, there was nothing visibly wrong. But that was almost more concerning than relieving. Physical injuries were a fairly easy fix, and although Sans wasn’t the best with healing magic, there were a few people they could go to for help. Assuming, of course, Papyrus was able to put aside his pride. 

A non-physical injury, on the other hand, meant almost certainly that a monster’s soul had been affected. Typically, damage to the soul was only done with the intent of killing; even the most belligerent monsters adhered to that rule. Bar brawls and street fights were only meant to settle disputes and establish rank or dominance. Aiming for the soul was low even for a criminal, and it took quite a bit to be considered one in the Underground. Even still, soul injuries weren’t unheard of, but because so few monsters survived them there wasn’t much knowledge in the way of treatment. For someone ranked so high as Papyrus, word of a soul injury could spell out the end of his career and more likely his life as well. In other words, if Sans couldn’t do anything about it and Papyrus refused help, he could very well be dooming them both. Sans hoped Papyrus had more sense of self-preservation than pride, but he could never be too sure with him. 

His excessively-pompous-even-for-Papyrus posture as he walked on wasn’t any reassuring. Sans had little choice but to keep following and pretend everything was normal like his brother so clearly wanted. That didn’t stop him from trailing a bit closer than he had been, just in case. If Papyrus were to suddenly pass out, it was doubtful he’d be able to carry him home, but he might be able to cushion his fall some, would maybe have enough energy left to teleport them at least a bit closer to their house. 

Thankfully they reached their destination with no further interruptions. As soon as they stepped through the front door, Papyrus promptly removed his boots before dashing to his room and slamming the door shut behind him, groceries still in hand. Sans stood at the door, at a loss for what to do. He supposed he could go ahead and start dinner, give his brother time to recuperate from … whatever it was that had happened; he’d watched Papyrus make the dish plenty of times. The only problem was that Papyrus had taken the groceries with him, and although he didn’t think he could get away with retreating to his own room, he sure as hell wasn’t about to go and retrieve the bags to start dinner himself. 

So he slumped into the couch instead, flicking on the TV. Instead of watching it he spent a good few minutes staring into space trying to come up with a list of people he could contact about Papyrus’s potential injury, and ended up dozing off into his palm as he awaited his brother’s return.

It wasn’t long before Papyrus came barging back down the steps, no longer in his armor but carrying the bag he’d taken up with him. Sans jolted from his light sleep and quickly wiped away the drool dribbling its way down his chin. Papyrus passed him without so much as a sideways glance. Almost as soon as he entered it, the kitchen was filled with the sounds of a running sink and pots and pans colliding.

Sans thought about following him in to “help,” but that would largely mean standing in the corner and watching, wary of his brother's mood. So he decided instead to wait and see if he’d call him in later. In the meantime Sans kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the other end of the couch, relaxing back into the armrest.

Confusing dreams of distant nonsensical scenarios filled his thoughts as he drifted in and out of consciousness, trying but failing to stay awake. The next time he was fully conscious, a steaming plate was being shoved under his nose. He just barely contained his surprise, using all of his willpower to keep from knocking the plate out of the outstretched arms offering it to him. Papyrus said nothing, didn’t even look at him as he handed him the plate of lasagna. 

Sans cautiously accepted it, saying nothing back. Much to his surprise, Papyrus tapped his legs - no commanding - prompting him to move them over - no comment on the shoes he'd left in the middle of the floor - before he sat down beside him with his own food.

Sans hadn’t expected him to stay, instead of storming up to his room and eat in solitude like he so often did. 

And Sans certainly hadn’t expected him to lean into his shoulder while casually cutting out a neat bite of his own plate.

All while his eyes remained glued to the television playing the only program that aired in that godforsaken Underground.

Sans tensed at the unexpected contact. It wasn't until he realized Papyrus showed no signs of lashing out that he finally began to relax. Physically, at least. His mind was racing to figure out what could possibly be going on in his brother’s head.

Eventually he began to eat as well, taking small bites every couple of minutes and gazing absently at the program playing on the television. By the time Papyrus was finished, Sans had consumed no more than a quarter of his own lasagna. His plate was taken out of his hands nonetheless, and he was left to sit on the couch, still clueless.

“Sans,” came the gruff voice from the doorway to the kitchen. Sans’s head shot up, concern etched into his face. 

“Y-yeah boss?”

Papyrus stared thoughtfully, opening his jaw slightly every few seconds or so, knitting his brow as he did so, then going straight back to his typical neutral expression. Sans’s eyes wandered around the room trying to find anything distracting as his brother attempted to gather whatever words he had. 

The first thing they landed on was the sock that sat in their living room, the one item Papyrus had never managed to make him pick up. It had been the subject of quite a few shouting matches, some of which got more serious than others, but in the end he would still refuse to remove it from its spot on the floor. Papyrus had since given up, leaving it to become more of a running joke than an actual point of contention. He was tempted to chuckle, but the tenseness of the moment murdered any sense of levity, even for him. 

His eyelights snapped back expectantly when he heard his brother sigh and clear his throat. But there was no follow up.

Sans slowly broke eye contact, opting to stare back down at the floor. There was a stain in the carpet by the couch where Papyrus had spilled a glass of wine they'd shared one evening. He'd been excited for a promotion, and for that one night had seemed to forget any animosity he held toward his older brother. Supposedly Papyrus had been saving the bottle for a special occasion, and to him, moving up in the Royal Guard was apparently cause for celebration. Sans much preferred the hard mustard Grillby served to him, but if drinking wine meant he could spend a rare and amiable night with his brother, he’d drink until he couldn’t taste anything but the bitter red liquid.

And amiable it had been. It was the first time in a while, as well as the last, that they laughed together. That had been at least a year ago. 

Unable to stand anymore of the awkward silence, Sans spoke up.

“Wanna come sit down? Looks like quite a deep-seated problem you got there.”

Papyrus furrowed his brow bones, unimpressed, but made his way over anyway. He took a moment to adjust on the opposite end of the couch, then cleared his throat again, only to follow it up with yet more silence. 

“You want me to turn the tv off or …”

Sans almost missed the subtle head shake. On the TV remained. 

What he did miss, however, was something his brother muttered, possibly to himself. If it was in fact meant for Sans, he hoped it wasn’t something too important. Asking Papyrus to repeat it wasn’t much of an option if he wanted to keep his head - Papyrus hated having to repeat himself. That was at least half the reason he spoke so loudly the majority of the time. But of course he wouldn’t be that lucky.

Papyrus was staring at him expectantly. He tried to keep his expression neutral while flipping an internal coin to decide if he should answer yes or no. You could never go wrong with a yes or no, right? 

“Um, no?” 

“What?”

”What?”

Papyrus gave him a look. Sans was already mentally preparing himself for an unnecessary lecture when Papyrus looked away and asked quietly, 

  
“How was your day?”

Sans thought briefly about pressing his palm to Papyrus’ forehead. Should he really answer? It hadn’t sounded like a question with an ulterior motive, but with Papyrus he could never be too sure. 

“‘s alright,” he murmured cautiously, barely a whisper. He could feel drops of sweat beginning to form on his skull as his eyes darted around the room trying to avoid his brother’s unwavering gaze.

“Good … good,” Papyrus said, nodding awkwardly.

More uncomfortable silence settled over them. 

“You okay, boss?” Sans finally had to ask.

The question seemed to take Papyrus by surprise, which turned out to be a huge mistake on Sans’s part. Papyrus’s guard went up instantly. 

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. But the veneer dropped almost as quickly as it’d been deployed. He sagged into the worn sofa.

“I’m fine,” he breathed, no longer staring into Sans’s eyes, seeing somewhere past him. 

Sans’s soul began pounding when he noticed tears dotting the corners of Papyrus’ sockets as he closed them. This wasn’t a situation he’d had to handle since they were kids, and things had been astronomically different then. Should he try to comfort him? Naturally, it seemed like the best response, but he had no idea where to start, nor was he sure how Papyrus would react. 

He would have known exactly what to do Before. Back when they were still running around Waterfall, hiding in tall tufts of grass to avoid predators, stealing what they could from the old monster who hoarded junk, doing whatever they could to stay alive. 

Because survive was all they could do. Back then, though plenty difficult, things had been simpler. It was just he and Papyrus against the Underground, no worries about status and control. On occasion, on nights when they’d gathered enough food to satisfyingly replenish their magic, Sans could even pull his brother to his chest, comforted in the way he snuggled in without resistance, and doze off feeling safe.

Back when things weren’t so frustratingly complicated, and he knew how to handle a tearful Papyrus. Back when a tearful Papyrus was still a plausible thing. 

Before Papyrus met that unruly captain of the royal guard. Before his life was consumed by ambitions of power, fueled by a need to rise to the top. Before their roles reversed and Sans no longer needed to struggle to care for the both of them. Before their relationship became so strained that they couldn't have a normal conversation, could barely even speak to each other without one lashing out at the other.

Things improved slightly after they moved to Snowdin, where the monsters were all relatively tame and danger wasn’t quite as imminent. They regained a certain level of comfort that wasn’t the same as Before but was a significant improvement from their initial fallout.

They also discovered a new aspect of their atypical rapport, coming to realize that screwing on occasion was surprisingly therapeutic for the both of them. Sans gave up ages ago trying to figure out why it was that Papyrus had suddenly reciprocated the feelings he’d been trying to subdue for longer than he could remember, or if it even was a reciprocation. Eventually he just came to accept it as it was, because with Papyrus bent on keeping his distance in any other circumstance, their odd and infrequent moments of intimacy were the only contact Sans would ever get, and he craved that contact as much if not more than he did the familiar burn of mustard down his throat.

Sitting on the couch next to a skeleton that hadn’t cried since the first time he was truly exposed to the horrors of the world they lived in, Sans couldn’t be blamed for not knowing exactly what to do. 

He scooted closer and reached a tentative arm out, draping it cautiously over his brother’s shoulder. To his surprise but immense relief, Papyrus didn’t fight it, only leaned into his older brother’s chest and allowed himself to be comforted in an extremely rare moment of vulnerability.

Sans wasn’t prepared for more than maybe a few tears, so when he felt the figure underneath him wrack with sobs he almost jumped off the couch before realizing what the movement was.

Papyrus was impressively quiet, only allowing the occasional whimper or shaky inhalation to escape above the low volume of the television. Sans began to run a soothing hand over his skull, staring intently at the robot reporting news on on screen but not really hearing any of it. His mind wasn’t racing like he would’ve expected, only concerned with offering whatever comfort he could. At least he seemed to do something right, as Papyrus’s harsh breathing was already beginning to slow, and Sans took this unusual opportunity to relax beneath his brother. 

By the time Papyrus stopped crying Sans was already on his way to repose. Because he wasn’t up to climbing the stairs to sleep alone, Papyrus remained in his brother’s lap. He took the time to put his feet up onto the couch and get comfortable, then proceeded lose sense of his surroundings, his mind occupied by warmth and sanctuary.

Sans stirred enough to move along with his brother, securing him in a loose yet meaningful embrace. He paused momentarily to reach for the remote to turn off the TV, then relaxed into that green, lumpy couch, and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

____

* * *

 

Papyrus woke in a daze, unsure of where he was, yet he felt more at ease than he had in ages. Strange he wasn’t more alarmed to not wake up in his own bed.

It couldn’t have been too late into the day, it was still dark. Or perhaps he’d somehow managed to sleep through the night and into the next? That was probably just the sleepiness talking, there was no way he’d have slept that long, even despite … 

He shifted - or tried to shift - to his other side. When his elbow dug into the surface he was lying on, he heard a grunt and immediately shot up, twisting at an awkward angle to look behind him.

“Heh, love seating you up and early,” croaked out the voice beneath him.

Papyrus fought the urge to lash out. That had become somewhat of a reflex over the years, a fact that he was beginning to hate. It's not even a loveseat, you idiot, he wanted to say. He knew it was nothing more than a joke, but his brother’s jokes never succeeded in lightening his mood. He was pretty sure most of that had to do with himself and not the skeleton producing them.

Still feeling too ashamed to say much of anything, he carefully detangled himself from his brother’s legs and stood up, stretching as he did.

He didn’t turn to look back at Sans – who was no doubt watching him leave – as he trudged up the staircase and entered his room.

Once inside, he sagged against the door, burying his skull in his hands. He was more conflicted than he could ever remember being, unsure how to deal with the new fountain of emotions that had come pouring in after the previous day’s events.

The pierce of Undyne’s spear as it grazed his soul was still fresh in his mind, right along with the equally unfamiliar and dreadful feeling of his HP dropping to a level he’d only ever experienced once before. That was a memory distant enough it might as well have been a dream. 

He subconsciously began fingering the scar that ran down his left eye socket, phalanges brushing gently up and down its length. 

It was amazing just how much impact a near-death experience could have. The first time had been a wake up call, when he’d finally realized just how much his brother had sheltered him from. That had been a mistake on Sans’s part. 

After that he’d changed, vowing to no longer be the naïve child he had been, so oblivious to the world around him.

That had also been somewhat of a mistake, this time on his own part. When he thought about it, not much good had come of the revelation. He virtually destroyed their relationship beyond repair, but he could keep his brother safe and that was all he thought mattered at the time. 

The second and unbelievably recent time had quite the opposite effect. After the argument he had with Undyne, exceedingly violent even by their standards, it was almost as if he saw his miserable life flash before his eyes. He would die at the hands of the one person in the Underground that resembled a friend, leaving the only monster he’d ever truly cared for on his own with no explanation. And with that thought came regret.

Regret that he’d never get to tell Sans, never get to show him, honestly show him, how much he meant to him. Regret that he’d wasted the time they did have putting up a front, doing what he thought was protecting the both of them, because Asgore knew the reality they lived in was harsh and unforgiving, quite literally kill or be killed.

He once thought Sans would end up worse than he had himself, if not dead, if they proceeded to accustom each other to impractical affection. Papyrus was lucky enough to escape with only a scar and slightly impaired vision in one eye after his first violent encounter with another monster. Sans, with his unusually low health, wouldn’t get off so easy. At the time, distancing himself seemed like the most obvious course. Only now was he beginning to consider the possibility that he’d been wrong. 

The walk home from training after the incident had felt surreal. After Undyne patched him up, things had gone back to normal in an instant, as though she hadn’t just held his very fate in her hands. He’d been lost in thought the entire trek back, undeniably shaken. He’d left himself alarmingly exposed, but by some stroke of luck no one had tried to challenge him. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to take them.

Papyrus heard Sans slowly climbing the stairs. He tried to tell himself to open the door. To open it, and … 

And what? Hug him? Kiss him? Toss him over the balcony?

Do something, at least. He deserved as much. 

But Sans kept moving, past the door at the top of the staircase to his own, and Papyrus remained frozen, pressed against the inside of his, listening to the click that notified him that he'd missed his chance. 

And all Papyrus could do was think about how much he deserved to be dead.

 


	3. Emotional Constipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 started out with a great outline and then the execution was meh, but it is what it is and i've read it over too many times to even feel like it's a story anymore. 
> 
> Edit: I ended up splitting this chapter in half, so there’s now one extra chapter but there’s still no new content yet. You’ll have to be a little more patient, sorry.

Sans left his room and came down the stairs with guarded trepidation just as Papyrus was pulling on his boots by the door. He didn’t say a word as he proceeded to the kitchen, and his half-hearted rummaging told Papyrus that he was only stalling until he left so that they wouldn’t have to face each other.

Initially Papyrus was going to give him what he wanted - not that he wanted a confrontation any more - but a subtle twinge in his soul kept him from reaching for the doorknob. He could leave and go about his day, and it would be little more than an average one. But if the entire day was going to feel like this, some unnamed feeling worming its way through the marrow of his bones, he doubted he’d be able to focus. In his current state he wasn’t sure that would result in the best scenario during training. 

On the other hand, confronting Sans could end up making the day much worse than average. Of course it could do just the opposite, but he couldn’t know the outcome for sure and if he had to choose between assured mediocrity and potential disaster …

But not-so-deep down he knew there was no doubt the feeling would continue to plague him, and the conversation he was considering would happen eventually, it was just a matter of when. He might as well get it over with. 

So, finding his resolve, he approached the kitchen entrance, found a spot to stare down on the wall to the left of Sans’ scar and began speaking before he could lose his nerve.

“Sans, I’d like to apologize.” He was much too rigid, he realized. It was the sort of tone he used when delivering a guard member’s ashes to their relatives, if there were any. But he was determined to get any apology out, so he kept on. 

“My behavior last night was unexpected, and I’m sorry to have thrust that upon you on such short notice.”

It was almost funny how he’d never noticed before that the top of Sans’s head just barely reached the edge of the sink. It was almost funny how he’d never considered how ridiculously - and inconsiderately at that - tall their sink was in the first place. Had it come with the house, or had he installed it himself? More likely it was the latter. 

“Something ... ” He cleared his throat. “... I must have purchased some bad ingredients the other night,” he practically breathed out.

“I was feeling a bit ill, and a hard day of training took its toll. I must’ve been under more stress that I thought.” 

He flicked his eyes to Sans, who clearly wasn’t buying any of it but still kept a practiced stare.

Papyrus couldn’t even blame him. 

It was almost funny how he’d never noticed that his brother seemed to wear the same outfit every day. Almost funny how little he seemed to pay attention to anything at all regarding his brother. Almost funny how, as he rambled on aimlessly, drawing out his inadequate excuse, he was pretending not to notice the subtle tense of his brother’s jaw, or the way Sans deliberately kept his arms crossed and his body angled just so to hide his clenching fists from view. 

“I assure you … it won’t happen again,” were the last words to leave his mouth. 

The silence that filled the space between them was excruciating. Sans’ expression gave away nothing. Not unusual, but his eyelights were too small and quivering just enough to tell Papyrus that his day had chosen the worse of the two outcomes. Finally, after an uncomfortable stretch of time, Sans chuckled and made a show of rolling his eyes. 

“Okay? That it? Geeze boss, don’t spill your fuckin’ heart out.”

The rage that swelled up in Papyrus’s chest did nothing to change the fact that, for once, he had nothing else to say.

“You gonna be late to work or what?”

Sans didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed past Papyrus and exited the house without looking back.

It was a while before Papyrus moved from his spot in the kitchen doorway. He should’ve waited after all, should’ve thought out a proper explanation before offering one in the first place. Go with what you know, was always Undyne’s advice. Sturdy, reliable advice that had kept him alive thus far. Of course the one time he decided to ignore it and take a gamble he fell flat. More than flat, even. He’d only sunken farther into the pit of unforgivable actions he’d been digging himself for longer than he could remember. 

The day was ruined, there was no denying that. But there was also no denying that he was going to, as Sans had so graciously reminded him, be late reporting to Undyne.

He moved sluggishly toward the door, the weight of the day to come already beginning to drag him down. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at the fact that Sans hadn’t closed the door completely on his way out.

Someone could easily have made their way in and struck Papyrus down without a moment of warning. Perhaps that would have been for the best. 

The door felt heavier than usual as he pulled it open. He swiped the keys off of the table and stepped out, greeted by a frigid gust of wind. Even the underground seemed to be in a foul mood that day. 

As he made his way past the woods that surrounded the path to Waterfall, he couldn’t help but give attention to details he’d always thought paltry. The large tree, knocked down ages ago, that still stuck halfway into the path. It’d become such a constant throughout his days he’d almost forgotten it was there. Skirting around it felt second nature. The gray … thing, always sticking out of a patch of snow on the forest’s edge. He’d never cared to stop and see just what it was. Neither, apparently, had anyone else. 

For a moment he slowed.

Suddenly it seemed imperative that he pick it up, tug it gently from it’s frozen spot and discover what lay beneath. 

A faint rustle to his left stopped him just shy of the object. He quickly retracted his hand and stood back up to his full height. He didn’t have time for distractions, he reminded himself. For the rest of the walk he focused his eyes straightforward, doing his best to keep his mind from straying to anything but reaching his destination. He hardly paid any attention to the transition from snow to stone as he passed the threshold into Waterfall. 

Despite his attempts at keeping his mind clear, that feeling - guilt, he could now admit - found its way back into his head, a parasite feeding off of his newfound emotional instability. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to simply say what he meant. Almost equally as frustrating was the knowledge that it had never managed to bother him before, that he’d been able to go on so long with such a clear, self-righteous conscience. The more the thought about it, the more irritated he became, until he felt his face burning with the heat of his magic. 

He couldn’t show up to Undyne’s like this. She appreciated a guard who could separate personal from professional. 

To quell his growing irritation, he fixated instead on the click of his heeled boots echoing through the tunnel, sharp and imposing. He made a game of counting his steps, thirty at a time. It wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling, but at the very least his thoughts were filled with numbers instead of words. 

When he reached the looming home of his superior, he paused on the out-of-place welcome mat under his feet. 

Until that moment, in his concern for his strained encounter with Sans, he’d failed to consider what it might be like the day after she’d more or less almost killed him. Knowing her, he had little doubt there’d be a tense facade of normality. How fragile that front would be was another question entirely. 

However, this confrontation, unlike the last, he had no choice but to engage. 

He raised a gloved hand to the door and gave three sharp knocks.

But nobody came.

* * *

 

Bad ingredients his ass.

Sans kicked a poff of snow in his path, aggressively half-hearted. A young snowflake nearby shied away, wary of his mood.

Sans wasn’t that upset. What had he been expecting? Honesty? This was Papyrus he was talking about. So what if he’d cried on his shoulder, had slept in his lap for the first time since they were children. Of course nothing had changed. 

His walk to his sentry station was more lacking in activity than usual. Typically, at the very least he could enjoy a laugh or get the latest gossip from the bear who hung outside the bar all day, but even he was absent that day. It wasn’t that Sans couldn’t enjoy a walk in silence; days like that were few and far between, and with the morning he’d had so far he probably would have brushed past anyone who approached him anyhow.

But the day’s lack of acquaintances turned out to be for the worse, because without them, there was nothing to take his mind off of his emotionally constipated jack ass of a younger brother. 

It was almost a throwback to when things had just been starting to go downhill. Papyrus would arrive back at wherever it was they were holed up and make up ridiculous excuses for the scars adorning his bones. He’d worried Sans to death, but there hadn’t been much Sans could do if Papyrus never told him anything.

There was one day when he’d tried to follow Papyrus to his “training,” whatever that was, to find out who the monster he spent all his time with was. That was the first time he met Undyne. From that day on they’d shared a dislike for each other. He might go as far as to call it loathing.

In all honesty, Papyrus was the only thing that kept them from killing each other. Even though he’d been no more than an inch taller than Sans at the time, it was impossible not to realize the strength and potential the young skeleton had. He could be ruthless, but he was loyal, and if either one of them had been hurt there would’ve been hell to pay.

Sans had admittedly been jealous of the head of the guard for a while. She was taller, stronger, had status, and worst of all Papyrus admired her. He couldn’t deny his initial gladness that his brother had found someone to spend his time with while he was off doing odd jobs for whatever scraps of food or money he could scrounge up - Asgore knew he worried for his brother’s safety in his absence. Papyrus had talked so highly of her, too, that he couldn’t help but be happy that his brother had found a role model to fill in where Sans himself was lacking. When he’d finally met her in person, however, he couldn’t help but wish that Papyrus had found anyone else in the underground besides her. 

It was petty, sure, and it wasn’t like he was around enough to really control who Papyrus associated with, but the pedestal on which he put the young, soon-to-be captain was irritating, to say the least. 

Spaced out as he approached his station, Sans didn’t notice the figure stalking towards him.

“Hey, punk.”

Speak of the devil.

Sans stopped a few feet away from her, trying his best not to look worried. Undyne had no reason to be speaking to him as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t been late in three days, and he was almost positive he’d remembered to hide his stash of mustard before heading home the previous day. Regardless, shouldn’t she have been at her home meeting up with Papyrus?

“‘Sup.” He tried for casual and instead got a mix of confusion and wariness with a bit of unintended bitterness sprinkled on the top.

She didn’t even bother to sneer, just cut to the chase. “Is he alright? He didn’t say much before he left yesterday, wouldn’t let me do more than some basic healing ...”

Sans stared at her, uncomprehending. He could only assume she meant Papyrus. There she went mentioning “yesterday” and practically confirming his suspicions that something had happened between his brother and Undyne during their training session.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she jumped ahead of him before he could continue.

“Look it was an accident.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, that was desperation in her voice. What had happened that she felt the need to come to him to explain herself?

“We got carried away, and I wouldn’t even be talking to you right now if it wasn’t that serious. His HP dropped so low I thought ... ” She stopped suddenly, scrutinizing him. All he could do was stare back and do his best not to break eye contact. After a long minute of studying Sans’ expression, she let out a breathy laugh.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?”

The confusion on Sans’ face must’ve showed more than he thought.

“Just make sure he eats and gets some rest. I swear that guy never sleeps,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t even bother announcing her departure before she brushed past him, walking briskly back toward the town. 

That wasn’t quite what he expected.

Then again, he wasn’t totally sure what he’d been expecting.

He wasn’t even prepared to think on her statement about Papyrus’s HP.

All he knew was that he was tired of being out of the loop, tired of always worrying about his brother from the sidelines, so he decided that one way or another he was going to confront Papyrus that night about what had gone down, possibly about even more than that.

Not eager to spend the day alone with thoughts that would inevitably drift to his brother, but also not eager to talk to Papyrus just yet, he kept on walking past his station and headed towards the outskirts of the woods.


	4. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the chapters split, and the next chapter is the old chapter 4. That’s all, thank you much

Training had gone about as well as expected. Aside from showing up late, Undyne had resumed normal behavior, just as rowdy and abrasive as ever. Even so, she was never very good with subtlety, and it was rather obvious the pains she was going through to keep from pushing him too hard. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that she cared about his well-being, or insulted that she thought him so fragile. In the end she’d still sent him on duty. While he was glad for it initially, he didn’t realize until the walk home just how fatigued he still was. Never before had he been so glad to return to his house at the end of a workday. 

For the first time since the incident, Papyrus had a moment to stop and clear his head. He let the front door drift shut behind him, didn’t triple or even double check the locks before removing his boots and shuffling up the stairs to his room. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, just flopped face-first onto the bed. He was behind on a day’s worth of paperwork and probably a week’s worth of cleaning but … his dingy mattress had never felt so comfortable. In fact the only thing keeping him from passing out right then and there was the rather uncomfortable armor digging into his shoulder. But he could deal with that later. For now, he was content ignoring the pain. 

Until he wasn’t, and the discomfort of his position became unbearable. Coupled with his aversion to being idle for too long, he was driven to face the painstaking task of removing his chestpiece. It was days like these when he questioned his own affinity for unnecessarily complex mechanisms. It seemed like for every strap he undid, another was just waiting to take its place. When it was all loose enough to slough off, he collected the various components to his armor and headed to the closet to put them away. 

When he opened the door to hang it, he could tell immediately that something was off. It was a subtle detail, so much so he almost missed it, but unlike they typically were, the clothes on their hangers were all shifted to the right side of the closet instead of the left. Maybe he was only being paranoid. Except he wasn’t, because there was no way he’d forget moving to the opposite side of the rack an entire row of clothes that he kept on the left specifically so that … so that the ...

There most certainly was a reason. 

When he looked down, he found that reason in the form of a small black box, still partially concealed by a … particularly long shirt he never wore. Wasn’t even sure where it’d come from. 

But that - the clear evidence that it had been tampered with - was beside the point. What had his face heating, his fingers progressively cramping, was the growing suspicion that Sans had deliberately invaded his room despite the explicit instruction not to touch anything besides the wallet. His jaw was beginning to ache as an aura of utter indignation poured off him in waves. This violation of his privacy, this deliberate act of insubordination. He’d been home not ten minutes and already there was something to shout about. If he could have a mere second of order in his household perhaps he wouldn’t be so explosive all the time, but it was perfection at work and perfection during training and perfection everywhere else in between and how was he supposed to ever be calm if he never had the chance to just sit and be. 

But, he supposed, perhaps Sans never had the chance either. He didn’t know too much about his brother’s life outside of their home aside from what Undyne told him, and although he was as close to friends with her as anyone could be in the Underground, he knew that she could be a bit … opinionated at times. And it wasn’t as if either her or Sans tried to hide their animosity towards each other during the few instances they were in the same vicinity. 

The point was, perhaps he was just as biased as his superior was when it came to his brother. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d sat together and simply talked about life like they used to.

Although ‘used to’ seemed almost unfitting; it felt more like a dream, a time when they’d actually been amiable. 

He constantly faulted Sans for the most insignificant offenses, always quick to call out and scold, but never self-aware enough to notice his own shortcomings. In fact if he was honest, there was no way Sans could truly have enjoyed his cooking when he’d first started out. Sans had pretended nonetheless, always encouraging, always scarfing down the food Papyrus made despite the taste he knew wasn’t anywhere near perfect. 

His chest tightened at the idea that Sans had been suffering all these years at his hand when he’d never done anything to intentionally upset Papyrus. He was a good brother, and countless years of anger and abuse on Papyrus’s part had made him forget that it was always Sans who’d encouraged him to carve his own path. 

The least he could do was respect Sans as a monster, but he couldn’t even do that. Couldn’t even treat Sans’s personal space with respect, in fact. He barged into his brother’s room so often the door had broken on multiple occasions, but never had he stopped to consider the hypocrisy of it all. Of course he could invade Sans’s privacy whenever he felt the need, but Sans’s curiosity was suddenly a heinous offense. 

Papyrus finally stood straight and finished hanging up his armor.

The past day and a half, there had been little else on his mind besides his brother. Only now was he realizing that dwelling on his own shortcomings wasn’t going to do anything to fix their damaged relationship. But at the very least, he could start by doing something for Sans to begin making up for the hundreds of sacrifices his older brother had made for him. 

Papyrus exited his room and made his way down the hallway to Sans’s. Despite his recent revelation, he felt he had no choice but to invade Sans’s room once more in order to find something that would be both meaningful and helpful to Sans. 

The moment he opened the door, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

 

* * *

  
  
The house was quiet.

Of course, it was always quiet, but ... Sans could tell something was off.

Papyrus was clearly home as his boots were sitting neatly by the front door. The same lamp was on, same light coming from the kitchen, the couch and tv were both in their respective places ...

And then he spotted it. It was missing.

That item that had become less a matter of cleaning over the years and more a symbol of both of their undying stubbornness. A reminder of their outward resentment.

The sock.

That treacherous white sock that had been the subject of numerous pointless arguments over the years they’d lived in that house.

It was gone, and Sans wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Either Papyrus had finally gotten fed up enough to bend, or that injury took more than just a physical toll on him. Only the second option seemed even remotely possible, and even that seemed like a bit of a stretch if he knew anything about his brother at all. 

Both curious and thoroughly disturbed, Sans moved as quietly as he could up the stairs and to his room. If earlier hadn’t been proof enough that something was off with Papyrus, that missing garment sure was.

He carefully pushed open his door, half expecting someone to come lunging out at him, but there was no motion, so he opened it the rest of the way.

Nothing was out of the ordinary except that the lights were on.

And the floor was clean.

And a tall skeleton in a red t-shirt was sprawled out on top of a pile of presumably clean clothes, fast asleep.

Or pretending to be. It didn’t look to Sans like he was breathing, and he knew his brother snored.

Loudly.

Unsurprisingly, as he was turning to leave the room, having decided to let his brother rest, his name was called.

Sans stopped and turned slowly, careful not to look directly at Papyrus. After a minute he still hadn’t said anything, and the silence was beginning to weigh on him.

“So, uh ... there a reason you did ... this?” Sans asked, gesturing vaguely about the room.

“Don’t be ungrateful.” Papyrus sat up, looking groggy but alert. “This room has needed cleaning since we moved in. You were too lazy to ever do it, so I did it myself ... Just in case.”

Sans resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “In case what?”

“In case someone decided to ... stop by. I couldn’t be accused of neglecting my home.”

It seemed Papyrus had an endless supply of poor excuses, and Sans was losing his patience. “What the hell happened yesterday with Undyne?”

Clearly Papyrus hadn’t been expecting such a direct question.

It looked for a moment like he would answer honestly. But after a few seconds of gross gaping, Papyrus narrowed his eyes and snapped,

“It’s none of your business.”

“None of my ... like hell it ain’t!” Sans slammed his fist against the wall behind him.

“You almost- almost died yesterday an-and somehow that’s none of my fuckin’ business? You didn’t say a goddamned thing about it and you expect me to just- to just brush it off?”

“Well maybe if –”

“If nothin’. okay? I’ve put up with your shit, with you distancin’ yourself for years and I’m sick of it. Your little macho routine? Ain’t a game anymore. I know you. Or knew you, anyway. What happened to the kid that would come to me askin’ to- to what? Kiss his boo boos? Switches don’t just flip like that, and- and even if you’ve settled into whatever this is that you’ve convinced yourself you are, I know it’s not you, and don’t even try to tell me otherwise after last night.”

He came up to breathe, chest heaving as he stared Papyrus dead in the eye. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was even a bit of remorse in his expression.

Somehow, despite the past several years of their strained relationship, Sans still couldn’t stand seeing pain on his little brother’s face, so closed his eye sockets instead and exhaled slowly. 

“Look. Bo- ... Papyrus ... okay, I know our relationship isn’t ... may never be what it used to be but …”

His gestures lost momentum as he tried to find the right words, until they rested limp at his sides.

“God. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Not like you care anyway ...”

“Don’t say that, I –“ Papyrus started, but seeing the look on Sans’ face, fed up and so, so exhausted, he stopped whatever excuse he’d been about to make.

“You what?” 

Papyrus tried to say something, to say _anything_ , but he felt like he’d lost control of everything in that moment. His voice, his body, the situation, all out of his control for maybe the first time in his life, and it was not a pleasant feeling.

“Ttch. Whatever. I’m goin’ to grillby’s.”

Papyrus had never felt so helpless, and it showed in the way his voice wavered when he finally forced out the words,

“Wait ... I ... I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible, but thankfully Sans still heard and stopped mid-turn. Papyrus wasn’t so sure he could have repeated it if he needed to.

Except it turned out that was all he needed to break down the dam that had been keeping him from expressing himself clearly, and a lifetime’s worth of apologies suddenly came pouring out of him like it was the last chance he’d ever have to redeem himself.

“I’m sorry I can’t just say what I’m thinking, and I’m sorry we ended up the way that we did. That was never my intention. I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you when you’ve done nothing but take care of me, for the way I yell at you for things that are beyond your control. I’m sorry I haven’t been a proper brother, and I’m sorry you think ... sorry I’ve made you think that I don’t care but I swear I do. I realized that and I don’t ... want ... I’m just ...”

He choked back tears, willing his mind to settle down. He couldn’t even look Sans in the face.

“I’m tired of not giving you the credit you deserve.”

There.

He said it.

Maybe it wasn’t enough to make up for years of abuse but it was a start. His cards were all on the table. All he had to do was wait for Sans’ response. 

Which didn’t come.

Sans was still turned halfway between him and the door, expressionless and unmoving.

Papyrus forced down the bit of anger growing in his gut. He’d just poured out his soul and his son of a b-

His brother. His brother was saying nothing, and he had to admit it was irritating him, but it was also making him more than a bit anxious.

“Hey ... Paps?”

That was a nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“If you ... if you wanna ... just ... I get it. Habits. They’re hard to break, I’m not expectin’ things to suddenly just go back to the way they were before, but ... we can work on it. If you want to. So ... baby steps.

“Heh, shouldn’t be too hard for a baby bones like you, eh boss.”

Papyrus swallowed but couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“Well,” Sans bellowed, ripping apart the moment. “Don’t know about you but I’m bone tired. Think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

The exaggerated yawn wasn’t very convincing.

“Night ... Papyrus.”

Papyrus wanted nothing more than to move forward and pull his brother into an embrace, but he couldn’t bring himself to outstretch his arms. Instead, he walked past and raised a hand to Sans’ shoulder, patting it once.

“Goodnight, Sans.”

As he left the room he considered what he’d just heard. It would be more than just difficult for him to maneuver around the walls he’d put up to protect himself and his brother, but he felt he really was willing to try, even if it took the rest of their lives. Which, considering where they lived, might not actually be that much time, but he was willing.

Like Sans had said.

Baby steps.


	5. A Soul In The Hand Is Worth Two In The Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, I apologize for the wait. I actually could’ve had the chapter up like last week, I just didn’t realize until last night that I really only had a few sentences left to write and was procrastinating for nothing but HERE I AM NOW!
> 
> I was gonna post two chapters to make up for it but I only have half of six written and I’m way too tired to finish it tonight so I can only hope that I’ll have it done in a reasonable amount of time because it’s supposed to be a shorter one.
> 
> Anyhow ... I think that's all I've got to say. Sorry for posting it so late, I wanted to get it done now cuz I'll be a bit busy tomorrow and I'll probably forget if I don't. There'll be a short little timeline thing of their lives in Underfell at the end of the chapter for reference in case anyone wants to see it. Oh also, I'll ask it here as well as there when I get the next chapter up, but if anyone has any suggestions for another title for that Roomates!AU thing I started I'd love to hear them, thanks. 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Edit: Just another short reminder that the chapters shifted

Papyrus was trying, he really was. 

The problem was that his behavior had become such a constant part of his personality that it felt physically impossible to show any sort of positive emotion towards his brother no matter how hard he tried, and that fact only frustrated him more. Over the past week he’d tried compliments, but they always turned into half-hearted insults. He’d tried hugging, too, and it always turned into something closer resembling a choke hold.

At the moment, Sans was awaiting some reaction from him, and Papyrus wasn’t even sure himself what he was thinking.

“It’s uh, butterscotch. Made it myself, just for you, boss.”

The “surprise” that Sans had been so eager to show him the moment he walked throught the front door was sitting inconspicuously on the table before them. It had to be some kind of a test. A test of his self control, perhaps? Although Sans looked pretty expectant ...

It didn’t matter. The Great and Terrible Papyrus never lost a challenge, so if eating the sludgy, messy, putrid ... absolutely disgusting-looking pie – if he could even call it that – his brother had supposedly made was the game, he was playing.

“Thank you. It looks ...” he swallowed. It took less will power to stand his guard against Undyne than it took not to grimace. “... nice.”

Maybe he could get away with saying he wasn’t hungry but that he’d save it for desert, then “accidentally” burn it while reheating it.

“How about I cut you a slice?”

Papyrus could swear there was a glint of mischief in Sans’ eye, but no less. He would prove that he could be nice. He could be appreciative.

“Of course. I’d love one,” he responded, lifting his chin.

Sans raised a skeptical brow but said nothing and proceeded to cut a ... well not neat, but something vaguely resembling a slice turned up on a small plate.

At least the crust looked edible.

Or like it had been at one point.

Papyrus remained standing, just in case.

He faced the possibility of death on a daily basis just by leaving his house, subject to a random attack or challenge at any given moment, and yet somehow Sans’s gift had him concerned for his life on a whole new level.

Curse his need to prove himself.

But never let it be said that he didn’t know empathy - this must be exactly how Sans felt when he himself had first begun experimenting with cooking. 

He stabbed a fork into the top of the pile of sludge. What had Sans called it? Butterscotch? He wasn’t sure what that was but he had a suspicion that it wasn’t whatever was in front of him.

He couldn’t even pick up a proper bite, it all slipped through the prongs of the fork. Sans noticed and reached behind him to grab a spoon from a drawer. Papyrus hated spoons for reasons no one ever understood but him, but he took it because it was looking like his only option.

He was starting to feel nauseous. The smell alone was enough to poison someone, and he was about to consume it.

This wasn’t going to happen unless he just went for it.

So he did.

He screwed his eyes shut and shoved the spoonful of scum into his mouth.

For one brief moment he legitimately thought he’d died and turned to dust.

Once his senses came back to him he realized he was leaning over the sink, gagging up that horrible atrocity, and he could hear Sans over the running sink laughing his ass off like there was no tomorrow.

Papyrus had more or less successfully gotten rid of the taste and was gripping the sink, marrow churning. How dare Sans?

The claws digging into the edge of the counter were itching to grab his stupid brother’s skull, his teeth gnashing together violently with a need to tear something apart.

But two could play at that game.

Instead of acting on his anger, he turned off the faucet and turned around slowly, ignoring the dents he’d put in the sink, and faced Sans with the calmest expression he could put on.

And he laughed.

He joined in on Sans’ hysterical howling, effectively shutting him up. Sans was still smiling after a moment, but thoroughly perplexed. “Wouldya look at that,” he muttered.

“Nyeh heh, I am capable of appreciating a good joke, dear brother.” He then pushed off the counter and closed the small gap between them, gripping Sans’ chin and putting on a smirk. To his satisfaction, Sans swallowed and the grin instantly dropped from his face.

Papyrus delighted in Sans’ mesmerized expression, face flushed with magic, as he snuck out a red tongue and ran it over his own teeth. The low chuckle that escaped him was involuntary but he let it be, carrying on.

His left hand snaked behind the figure in front of him, and he dropped his right to do the same. Sans was pinned against the table, looking flustered and a bit excited when Papyrus brought a hand up and grasped the back of his skull.

All the while Papyrus kept the same expression, smug and pleased, leaning in close enough to get Sans’ eyelids to flutter closed.

His grip on Sans’s head tightened, and in the split second it took for his brother’s lust to turn to confusion then bewilderment, a spoonful of the very pie he’d served Papyrus was being shoved down his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to snap his head clean off his shoulders, but it was enough to be effective. That coupled with the fact that Sans wasn’t strong enough to push off his assailant made for an entire dreadful minute of choking and near-crying at the vile taste.

Papyrus made sure he swallowed every last bit before finally releasing him, letting him fall to the floor, and watched as he crawled over to the sink that was conveniently too high for him to reach.

Papyrus was sure he hadn’t laughed that much in his lifetime.

Sans was laughing too, sort of. It was strained and sounded more like wheezing, and Papyrus was beginning to feel bad so he helped his brother up to the sink to drink, shaking too but for a whole other reason.

Once they’d both calmed significantly, the house was quiet again, but it was a comfortable silence. For a moment, anyway.

Sans was watching Papyrus, a slightly resentful yet warm expression on his face, and as nice as it had felt Papyrus was beginning to feel annoyed.

Why, he had no idea. Maybe he just wasn’t used to such amiable moments. Whatever it was, the feeling was slowly pooling in his gut, and Sans’ ... face. All calm and irritating and ...

It was getting on his nerves, and he was itching to yell or something and he didn’t know why and it was driving him crazy and he hated it but –

He needed to get out of there before he went off on Sans and ruined everything.

“I need to go change.”

Sans snapped out of his blissful state, focusing his eyes back on Papyrus. He didn’t respond immediately, which only made Papyrus’ chest clench more.

“Oh yeah, uh ... yeah. Go ahead. No one’s stoppin’ you.” 

Papyrus didn’t miss a beat.

He might’ve left the room and bounded up the stairs a little too quickly but he didn’t care. He was determined not to take his irrational emotions out on his brother who had – and not for the first time – done nothing wrong.

By the time he’d changed out of his armor he’d calmed significantly, which was a blessing because Sans came knocking on his door not more than a few seconds later.

He took a deep breath before crossing the room and opening the door.

“Do you wanna, uh ... watch a movie? I got ... found, one of those, uh ... whatchamacallits. It’s a thing that plays tapes, and I found a few tapes too down at the dump so ... wanna watch one?”

Papyrus supposed he could survive a movie. At least they wouldn’t have to interact much. That meant little risk of him saying the wrong thing.

“What about dinner?”

Some leftovers and an abomination tossed out the window later, they were both sitting on the couch side by side, not even halfway through what turned out to be a pretty disappointing movie. The title “Gone With The Wind” had lead Papyrus to expect a story about someone cleverly getting away with murder.

He supposed they should have gone with Sans’s choice but ... he would sit through this movie a thousand more times before admitting that.

“So,” he started, surprising himself at his willingness to strike up a conversation. “Butterscotch pie?”

“Actually,” Sans chuckled, “it was, uh ... snail pie. Snail pie, not butterscotch.”

Papyrus rolled his eyes and shook his head but a small grin still tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Wait,” he said, “where did you acquire snails? And where did the recipe come from?”

“Got the snails from that sadistic ghost down in waterfall, that was fun. The, uh, recipe ...” he hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “I’ve got my sources.”

Papyrus was skeptical but he let it go. If his brother was one thing it was resourceful, which more than made up for the fact that he was dangerously weak.

They settled into an enjoyable silence. The movie played quietly, becoming background noise as Papyrus zoned out. He didn’t realized he was drifting off until Sans spoke up again.

“Hey, Pa - ... boss?”

He rather liked it when Sans used his name, but he didn’t know how to tell him that so he simply answered him instead.

“Yes, Sans?”

“So, uh ... did you ... I hope you don’t mind me askin’ but ... what ...”

“Happened with Undyne?”

“... yeah.”

“I suppose you should know ...” Papyrus sighed. “There’s not much to tell. We had a minor spat –”

“Minor?”

“Yes, minor. It just happened to be in the middle of a sparring match and we got carried away. I suppose I was too angry to focus and she got a good hit on me.”

After a beat Sans hesitantly asked, “There a uh, reason? Why you were fightin’?”

“Yes.”

“... care to tell me?”

The feeling was coming back, that almost ironically annoying annoyance that seemed to fill every fiber of his being. He knew Sans was just worried - he had a right to be - but couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Papyrus told him before that he was fine, and he meant it.

Instead of yelling or explaining himself, he chose a tactic he wouldn’t normally use save for special circumstances like the one he was in: evasion.

“Would you believe I can’t recall?”

Sans breathed out a laugh. “You, the great papyrus or whatever, can’t remember somethin’ that happened hardly a day ago? World must be endin’.”

“It’s been two days,” Papyrus corrected.

But Sans had clearly gotten the message because he dropped the subject.

“This is bullshit,” he said a few minutes later, gesturing limply to the television in front of them.

Papyrus nodded in agreement.

From there the conversation tapered off. Papyrus went back to letting his mind wander, and after awhile he noticed Sans fighting to keep his head upright. Papyrus’s soul reacted before he knew what he was going to do, but he knot in his chest kept growing until he finally forced himself to act. Carefully, so as not to break the fragile peace between them, he snaked his arm behind Sans. His soul was swelling anxiously, but he gave Sans plenty of room to retreat. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he really did, but part of improving meant making an active effort, not just passively accepting his brother’s attempts at interaction. So he offered the tactile comfort he knew Sans craved. 

Sans made no protests as he accepted the place to rest his head. Only when he’d settled his arm down on Sans’s shoulder did Papyrus begin to relax again. 

The movie was so much longer than he’d anticipated. After one false ending, even he couldn’t hold back a groan at the realization that there was still an entire half of it yet to come. It was clear that neither of them were paying any attention, but both were too comfortable to get up to change or stop it. 

For awhile they entertained each other with silent games. Sans would tap out a pattern on Papyrus’s leg, then Papyrus would return it on Sans’s shoulder. But the patterns could only get so complicated, and eventually Sans resigned to run a gentle hand over Papyrus’s chest. 

Papyrus found it oddly comforting, lost himself in the directionless swirls. It reminded him of a time when he was still small enough to curl up in Sans’s arms and take comfort in his older brother’s presence. Sans used to be his world, the only constant in their constantly changing world. Always a new place to be found, always a new job for Sans to disappear to.  

Papyrus wasn’t sure he’d ever realized as a child just how much Sans did to take care of them. And yet, every evening he came back bruised or exhausted, he always made time for Papyrus. He fed him, clothed him, listened to him drone on and on about the most trivial parts of his day. Papyrus never listened to Sans. He never asked him how his day went or how he was doing. Now that he was prime caretaker, he never had time for Sans’s problems. Never thought to ask why he had so much trouble getting up every morning. Never thought to question why his eyes didn’t light up anymore when he enthused about complicated things Papyrus didn’t begin to understand. That probably had something to do with the fact that he didn’t enthuse at all anymore. 

It took him much too long to realize his shortcomings, and he -

“Ow!” Papyrus flinched, pulling back suddenly.

Sans sat back instantly, worry painting his expression. “You okay, boss?”

“Yes. Fine. I’m fine.”

He was clearly not fine, Sans could tell that much. That was much too harsh a reaction for such a light brush over his chest. 

But up until that point, Papyrus hadn’t even realized he was injured anywhere besides his soul, and that was taking more of his attention than the pain itself. 

He was going to ignore the disbelieving look he was receiving until Sans reached back over and began tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“What are you –”

“Just shut up and sit back for a sec,” he said in a demanding yet protective tone that wasn’t entirely unpleasant to Papyrus. He shut up.

Sans went slow, careful not to drag the shirt up Papyrus’s front, and stopped high enough to reveal a fairly deep gash a couple of ribs down close to his sternum. He visibly swallowed. “I’m gonna ... just trust me, alright?”

“Undyne already healed me,” Papyrus protested.

“Clearly not well enough. And you know green magic ain’t shit for healin’.”

He couldn’t argue, so Papyrus went back to shutting up.

“Just sit still.” He shifted closer and nudged Papyrus back to give himself a better angle. “Haven’t done this in a while.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin’, just relax.”

Papyrus was getting worried not for the first time that day, but he figured if there was anyone in their world he trusted completely it was his brother. So, begrudgingly, he did as he was told and leaned back into the couch, letting him work.

He winced at first, the touch sending sparks of pain through his chest, but eventually he settled into it. It was soothing, he could admit that much. But no amount of comfort would change the fact that he was an impatient monster, so he resolved to focus on Sans’ face as he waited, carefully studying the way his brow knit in concentration as he healed.

His eyes were drawn to the crack running down the back of Sans’ skull. As much as he prided himself on his keen memory, he was ashamed to admit he couldn’t quite remember if Sans had gotten the scar in a battle trying to protect him, or from him himself.

Either way he was at fault.

He made a mental note to add that to the long list of things to make up for.

Eventually he dozed off tracing the pattern of the cracks with his eyes, succumbing to the soft, relaxing buzz of the healing magic so close to his soul.

“Feel good?” Sans chuckled right before he stopped.

Papyrus felt cold in the magic’s absence, but light, as if all of his problems had suddenly blown away. They hadn’t, of course, and he knew that, but it was a nice feeling and he held on to it.

He replied to Sans’s question with a short “Meh.”

Sans yawned – loudly and rudely if Papyrus said so himself – and extended his arms above him, successfully setting off a chorus of snaps and pops. “Man that takes the energy outta you.”

Tired himself, Papyrus stood up and stretched, though much more conservatively.

“Where you headin’?”

“Shh.” Papyrus pressed a finger to Sans’s mouth before gripping beneath either of his arms and hoisting him up from the couch.

“Whoa whoa whoa waddaya doin’?” 

“I said shh, calm down.” Once he’d adjusted the smaller skeleton onto his hip, he began moving towards the staircase. He could feel Sans giving in, albeit reluctantly, as he let Papyrus carry him up the steps without another complaint.

Papyrus took his time with the door, whispering a quiet “thank you” before slipping inside and closing it behind him. He delighted in the way Sans shivered in his grasp.

He set him down gently on the bed and lifted the covers, taking his time climbing in behind. Sans tensed as Papyrus draped an arm over him, wriggling it beneath Sans’ own to wrap it around his front. Perhaps it was the healing, or maybe he was simply too tired to care, but he felt ... affectionate, and for whatever reason he wanted Sans to know it.

Carefully, he reached down into the opening beneath the sternum of the skeleton beside him and gently pulled out his soul, red and full and alive in his hands.

“Pa-papyrus, what ...”

The words died in his mouth as Papyrus began thumbing it gently, with all the tenderness of mother with her newborn. Each delicate stroke was heaven to Sans, a feeling he’d never had the opportunity to experience before. He was in bliss, and Papyrus was too at the thought that he could at least show if not tell his brother that his efforts did not go unnoticed.

Excited at the notion of pleasuring him more, Papyrus pressed down in deeper and wider circles, not hard enough to crush the fragile soul but enough to elicit low and satisfying sounds from Sans.

Curious as to how far he could take it, he lifted it slowly, pausing to admire the way it glowed in his hands, much brighter than he’d ever seen it. It was exhilarating, the way he could feel every part of Sans’s body and mind, the control he had over such a fragile existence. And the power. 

Oh, the power.

He could close his fist and crush the light in front of him at a moment’s notice, and somehow knowing the responsibility he held for another life incited a sense of unwavering protectiveness.

He never wanted to let go.  

Sans’ moaning grew desperate as Papyrus bit gently into the soul in his grasp.

Searing hot pain coursed through his bones, numbing in some places but intensely stimulating in others. A feeling he relished. As soon as he felt a tongue dripping with magic make contact, he thought he’d melted right then and there.

There were rare occasions when Papyrus was generous enough to participate in foreplay with Sans, running his tongue up every inch of him above his bottommost ribs, but that paled in comparison to what Sans was feeling right now. It was as if his entire body were being enveloped, smooth and warm and secure. He couldn’t get enough. He would’ve begged for more if he were able to find his voice.

Instead all he could do was pant and try to stop the incessant noises escaping from him.

An impossible task, of course, especially when Papyrus leaned in and whispered to him not to hold back before enclosing his soul in his jaws. His sucking and shifting seemed almost careless, but the way his tongue pressed in periodically, swirling against the surface, threatening to break through, told him even through the fog in his head that the movements were calculated, their goal to keep him burning for more.

Because it was wasn’t enough.

He was so close, but it was like ... like the sink in their kitchen, just out of reach, and as erotic as that analogy was he was beginning to feel an ache that was all too familiar.

It was never that simple with Papyrus.

Problem was, even when he was pinned against the wall being pounded mercilessly from behind he could at least think relatively clearly, enough to utter a word. This soul fondling left him breathless and speechless, the intensity almost too much for him to handle. Spots began to dance in his vision, although he realized that his eye sockets weren’t actually open. They were floating in his mind, fuzzy and numb with pleasure.

Papyrus was still at it, grazing his pointed teeth across its surface, sending shocks down Sans’ spine. He could feel a new pressure building, one that coursed through every inch of his bones, one that was itching for release.

“Pa-... hah ...” he gritted his teeth, still unable to speak. Papyrus’s low chuckle only spurred on his need.

He felt ready to explode, but Papyrus held back, awaiting the one word he wanted to hear. “All you need to do is ask nicely,” he purred, digging the tip of his tongue into the center of Sans’s soul. 

Sans’ eyes went dark at the feeling. He grasped around the sheets for something to anchor him down, and with the last of his ability, fighting to stay above the surface, he stuttered out the words.

He nearly blacked out as Papyrus bit down hard enough to draw magic from him.

That ever so slight drop in his HP sent his head spiraling, a feeling that was agonizing in all the right ways. He’d never felt so whole, so complete before.

The brief feeling of emptiness that came after Papyrus returned his soul was replaced by a pair of sturdy arms pulling him in, gently but meaningfully. With steady, rhythmic breathing to lull him, it was probably the fastest he’d ever fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I almost left the 's' out of 'scum' accidentally


	6. Tea Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK FIRST THINGS FIRST 
> 
> Before I post the chapter or say anything else I seriously just wanna shout out to a few people who I sadly haven’t interacted with (but would totally love to in the future) who seriously just always make my day. Don’t get me wrong, I love all my followers dearly (ALL 331 OF YOU!!!! WE HIT 300 LIKE LAST WEEK AND I’VE BEEN WAITING TO FINISH THIS TO SAY ANYTHING THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME), it’s just these couple of people who I’ve noticed specifically who consistently like and comment on my posts and are literally just such amazing followers who give me motivation every day: @konekokittycat and @ecoreibun
> 
> And of course I can’t leave out my senpai @0netype who inspires like everything i do
> 
> And then I have to give a seriously special kudos to a person who was there literally from the beginning when I was just starting out with this blog, @lone-is-papyrus. I gotta say starting a new blog is simple enough, it’s keeping it and sticking to it and getting through that initial stage that can be so immensely discouraging, and this wonderful user was there complimenting my work left and right, sending me my first little request, just simply being there and it meant and still means so much more to me than i can express. thank you SO MUCH for being the reason I stuck with this blog and motivating me enough to get me to where i am today, which is more than I’ve ever done with any fanbase
> 
> ok now that i’ve gotten that important piece out, THE CHAPTER 
> 
> To say the least I’m not all that happy with it, but it’s ok enough and it’s here and it’s done and I’m gonna murder myself if I don’t hurry up and post it, so here I am. Posting it. 
> 
> Fair warning, I seriously, SERIOUSLY, SERIOUSLY, LOVE Undyne but I really, REEEALLY cannot do her justice in writing, so be prepared for some serious beating around the bush
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this fic so far, and i gotta reiterate just in case you missed the post that this will be the last chapter before an indefinite hiatus (I still have a swapfell oneshot and two Roommates drabbles on their way though)
> 
> Anyhow, thanks again and enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Same reminder, chapters shifted. Also I switched tenses last time and started writing in present but I went ahead and changed that back, it's all consistently in past tense now

Papyrus was a light sleeper. Years of having to be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice had ensured that. So, when he felt something smack the side of his skull and another something kick his femur, his body was up faster than his mind could react. But when he faced the open room there was nothing. Only when his senses fully returned to him did he remember that he wasn’t alone in his room like usual.

“Sans!”

The thrashing figure in his bed bolted up abruptly, one eye flashing, the other an empty socket boring into the wall across the room. His laborious breathing continued as sweat poured from his skull, pooling on the sheets beneath him. Then came the muttering, soft and incoherent at first, then taking the form of words in short bursts as the volume grew. Papyrus made out a “stop” and a few curses. He thought he heard his own name somewhere between the sputtering, but most of it was too frantic to be coherent. And all the while Sans kept on staring ahead, panting and breathless and clutching at the covers around him. 

This wasn’t be the first time Papyrus had been awoken by one of Sans’s nightmares, and what had become his instinctual reaction was already kicking in. He knew there were hundreds over better ways he could deal with the situation, but the most harmless thing he could think to do at the moment was shout his brother’s name again.

This time Sans heard it, waking up from whatever horror he’d been reliving only to find another awaiting him in the form of a threatening hand poised to strike. He reflexively scrambled back into the corner between the bed frame and the wall, screwing his eye sockets shut, forcing out a thousand “sorry”’s and bracing for the impact.

An impact that didn’t come, because Papyrus caught himself in time to rethink just what the fuck he was about to do.

His eyes widened in horror at himself.

When had he become like this? And why,  _ how _ had it taken him so long to realize it?

He felt sick, from both his own response and from the absolutely petrified gaze from Sans that he was responsible for. He quickly and quietly excused himself from the room, stumbled to the door and left his brother alone.

The banner was the only thing stopping him from tumbling over the balcony. What had happened to him that made him so violent and abusive?

His first thought was that he’d always been that way, but the thought rang false even to his own mind. There was a time when things had been healthy between them. He was sure Sans wouldn’t have put up with him for all those years without at least a glimmer of hope that whoever he’d been before was still there, begging for a chance to resurface.

He was going to throw up. It was so sick.

That’s all he could think, how sick, how  _ revolting _ it was, the way he threw his only family around like he was worth less than a pile of dust. He treated Sans like he meant nothing to anyone, least of all his own younger brother.

And to think he thought he could make up for that by just ... being nice?

There was nothing that could make amends for that short of his own death. And the even sicker thing about it was that he’d drilled so deep into Sans’s head that he was hopeless and insignificant without him, that he somehow needed Papyrus to survive. And Sans had believed him, so much that he had no doubt Sans would do something drastic if he left, even if he was much better off without Papyrus constantly looming over and controlling him.

He could feel himself on the edge of breaking down, felt the desperation clawing at the edge of his mind. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he  _ refused _ to leave Sans alone in a time of need like he’d done so thoughtlessly in the past.

He did his best to push his wallowing to the back of his mind and ignore the tightness in his throat. He refused to acknowledge the few tears that had trailed their way down his face. He was headed to the kitchen to do something for Sans. The only thing that he thought might be effective, or at the very least do something to help his brother. 

As soon as he had a pot of water boiling on the stove – he didn’t have a kettle like Undyne, so it would have to suffice – he rummaged through the cupboards in search of the small canister he’d tossed somewhere ages ago.

Papyrus wasn’t too fond of tea, but after a rough sparring session some time ago, Undyne had forced him to take home a container of something she called sea tea. Unwilling to disrespect his superior by throwing it away and risk it turning up in the dump, he’d accepted it without protest, then forgotten about it as it lay untouched in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets.

Conveniently, it took him as long as the pot took to start boiling to find it, but he stopped once he’d filled a decent sized mug with scalding water. He had no idea how to make tea.

Sure, he’d more or less watched Undyne prepare it before, but he was pretty sure she had some specialized tool to help with that.

Should he just ... put the leaves in?

No, the tea Undyne served never has any in it, and he wasn’t sure that they were even edible. He would’ve called Undyne to ask except it was … 3 a.m., he saw after a quick glance at the clock that hung over their front door. 

He didn’t really have any other option than to just go for it, so he put the dried leaves directly into the steaming cup. He watched, fascinated as they spread apart and began to dye the water a darkish, greenish ... brown? He never saw the appeal of the hot beverage, but it smelled nice enough, so he figured he was doing something right.

“Let it steep for like five minutes,” he recalled Undyne telling him as she’d handed him the canister. So he waited. Once five minutes passed, he scooped the leaves out as best as he could with a fork and spoon combination. There were still a few small pieces left, but he thought it was good enough, so he took the cup and made his way back to his room.

It didn’t occur to him that Sans might not still be there until he opened the door, but there Sans sat, still in the corner of the mattress staring off into space. He looked up as soon as Papyrus stepped in. There was a moment of stillness, then he struggled to push himself off the bed while he apologized for still being there. 

“No,” Papyrus said. Commanded, rather. “I mean,” he tried again, softening his expression at least if not his voice. “Stay.”

He walked over quietly and took a seat on the edge of the bed, mug in hand. His soul was aching with nerves. He inhaled ... and exhaled. Deep and slow, in and out, over and over, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

He was almost sure he was going to throw up now.

He reached over to the bedside table and turned on the lamp to distract himself, then held out the tea in Sans’s direction without looking, hoping he took it without needing to be prompted.

Sans’s bones began rattling against the cup as he accepted it. Papyrus shushed him softly when he tried again to apologize. Sans even tried to hand it back after some of its contents sloshed out onto the pristine white sheets.

“They’re already due for a wash,” Papyrus tried to sound reassuring. Judging by Sans’s nod he seemed to succeed, at least to some degree. “Drink. It will make you feel better. You may not be able to go back to sleep, but you are always napping during the day anyway, aren’t you?”

He almost immediately regretted that last part; he realized now that there must be more to Sans’s constant sleep than laziness. But Sans only rolled his eyes a little as something resembling a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not like you’re leafin’ me much of a choice, eh?”

Papyrus narrowed his eyes. That tone most definitely implied a pun, but it was going way over his head.

“Wait, where’d you get this?”

Surely terrible joke aside, Papyrus was proud that Sans was cautious enough to ask for the origins of the drink he was just handed. He could never exercise too much caution. Still, It was rather disappointing on his part that Sans didn’t feel he could trust his own kin. 

Not that Papyrus ever gave him a reason to.

“Undyne,” he told him.

Sans raised a skeptical brow. Papyrus couldn’t tell if he was questioning the reliability of the source or the fact that Undyne of all monsters drank tea.

“You’ll be fine,” he said with a dismissive wave.

Sans only scoffed, clearly not reassured. “You do know where we live, right?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” he said, tone unintentionally clipped. “I go out and risk my life every day for this garbage dump of a town and its ungrateful citizens.” He heaved out a sigh. “Sometimes I wonder why I even do it, they’re all worthless.”

Whatever grin was beginning to coalesce on Sans’s face vanished. His eye lights dropped to the mug in his hands.

Papyrus’s intent wasn’t to include Sans in that mix of worthless denizens, but some stubborn part of him wouldn’t allow him to say that out loud. He needed to say something, though. His inability to communicate was probably the biggest roadblock in their relationship. If it was going to improve, it was a good starting point. “At least there’s one reason,” he said quietly, hoping it would suffice.

Sans’ eyes narrowed slightly, but as he raised the mug to his jaw, Papyrus caught a glimpse of a smirk, one that sent a small wave of relief through his system.

“The old turtle,” he said suddenly, startling Sans into burning the tongue he’d formed.

Sans cursed and jerked back, spilling more tea. “Come again?”

“I think that is where she acquires her tea. That old fossil down in Waterfall.”

There’s a short pause before Sans bursts out laughing. It’s actually more of a muffled chuckle, but it brings a skeptical smile to Papyrus’s face nonetheless.

“What?” he asks with a short, breathy laugh of his own.

“Y’know we used to steal from that guy? Stars, he hated my guts, but he always did seem to have a bit of a soft spot for you. Think he liked how you never tried to run when you got caught. You always stood up to try an’ face him. Not like he ever did anythin’ to hurt you.”

Papyrus only vaguely remembered that point in his childhood, but it sounded exactly like something a stubborn, youthful him would have done. Mostly he was just relieved that Sans still had some fond memories of him.

“I think that’s how I met Undyne,” he blurted suddenly. It was an old memory that hadn’t surfaced in years, but it was still intact in the recesses of his mind.

“Pfft, really? You always told me you challenged and beat her in a fight and she took you in as her apprentice or somethin’.”

“I ... well. Obviously I ...”

San’s face grew smugger and smugger as Papyrus struggled to come up with an explanation.

“It’s not a complete lie! There was, in fact, a challenge, it was just ... she, who challenged me. And I ... may not have exactly ...” he cleared his throat. “The point is, she upheld justice, making her the perfect mentor for the –”

“Great and terrible papyrus, I know. So what’d she challenge you for?”

“I got caught. Stealing. She gave me a choice, pay or fight, and I never turn down a fight.”

“Not like you really had much of an option,” Sans snickered.

Papyrus ignored him. “I fought valiantly until the old turtle came and drove us out. From then on I made sure that she took notice of my effort and skill until I began my training.”

“In other words you begged until she finally caved?”

“The Great Papyrus does not beg ... but yes. In preposterously simplified terms. How is the tea?” he asked, changing the subject. 

“It’s good. A little briny though, and I feel kinda bouncy. Like I need to get up and run. Holy hell, did that seriously just come outta my mouth?”

Even Papyrus couldn’t resist a laugh.

After that there was a lull in conversation and he heard himself sigh. Not one of exasperation or exhaustion, but just ... because. A sigh to sigh, because despite his earlier turmoil, for the moment he was at peace, sitting next to Sans and watching him sip gingerly on his tea. 

“You don’t have to stay up with me, y’know.”

Papyrus gave a soft “Nyeh,” in place of a scoff. “I do know. And I want to,” he mumbled as an afterthought. 

Sans seemed taken aback by his statement, or at the very least skeptical. The light blush that crept up his face was as reassuring as it was satisfying. 

“Okay. Well, you want some of this tea to help you stay awake? Like you said, I don’t think I’ll be gettin’ back to sleep anytime soon.”

“I don’t require that much sleep, but thank you for the offer.”

“You sure? Even with the injury and all?”

“ _ Yes _ . I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay, got it ... you sure you ain’t refusing’ to drink it ‘cause it’s poison?”

“You’re beginning to make me regret not poisoning it,” he sighed.

Sans only chuckled and downed the remainder of the cup’s contents in one swallow.

After removing the mug from his brother’s hands, Papyrus pushed himself off the bed and headed to the door to take it down to the kitchen. He was relieved to find that his tranquil state wasn’t just a fluke, that the good mood didn’t wear off as soon as he left the room. 

It was almost frightening how calm he felt, numb in a pleasant sort of way. It was enough to keep him pacified even when he missed the bottom step and dropped the ceramic mug in his hands. Time seemed to slow around him. He watched almost absently as it hit the ground, shattering on impact. 

He waited for his temper to flare up. Waited to react at all, in fact. But for a long moment he only stood there.

The reaction that did come was a slightly concerning but still refreshing surprise. The laughter bubbling in his chest was so foreign a feeling he almost didn’t recognize the laughing fit for what it was. Once it started, he couldn’t for the life of him stop. He didn’t think he wanted to anyway.

Before he knew it he was leaning against the banister and clutching at his side. His jaw ached from grinning so hard and tears dotted the corners of his eye sockets. He barely registered the click of his bedroom door opening when Sans emerged.

“You alright, boss?” he called down.

Papyrus glanced back. For reasons beyond him, the expression on his brother’s face - half-smile half-grimace - had him doubling back over, unable to answer the question with even so much as a nod.

Sans’s confusion was practically tangible, but he joined in nonetheless. At the very least he was glad to see Papyrus truly laughing for the first time in forever (while also entertaining the possibility that he may have just finally lost his mind).

It was a good few minutes before Papyrus calmed down enough to move from his spot on the steps. After a deep, resolving breath, he rose and climbed back up the staircase.

“Aren’t you gonna, uh ...” Sans gestured to the pile of shards littering the bottom of the stairs.

Papyrus looked down absently, then stared back up at Sans. For once, he wasn’t angry. It was exhilarating. The broken cup behind him was a lifetime away. 

He had time. Why had he never realized that before? There was no rush for perfection, and there were more important things to worry about than a perfect home and a perfect job and a perfect life. It would never really be perfect until started letting go of the things in his mind that were holding him back. He had time. So he turned to Sans and said,

“I’ll do it later.”


	7. Born To Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part I posted before I ghosted, lol. Enjoy, and hopefully I won't take a million years to get the next part out

It was a particularly chilly morning even for Snowdin, but Sans paid it no mind as he sat at his sentry station with his chin resting on his palm.

His mustard supply was running low, so he would need to make a stop at Grillby’s sometime soon. 

He could do it on his walk home. He could also just teleport back and do it on the way to work the next day. The sea tea’s effects had worn off about an hour ago and he barely had the energy to keep his head up let alone drag himself across Snowdin. 

If there was one thing keeping him awake it was his concern over his brother’s behaviour the previous night. He could tell Papyrus was making a serious effort to change, but he’d nearly lost his mind laughing over what? A broken cup? 

He lived for jokes, and even he couldn’t find anything funny about it. Unless there was something flying way over his head, which wouldn’t be that surprising with his height. 

He chuckled softly to himself. That was a joke Papyrus would’ve appreciated. 

But even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the fatigue pressing down on his posture and pulling his eye sockets shut. 

On an ordinary day, he wouldn’t have thought twice about dozing off at work, but this was different. For one, his usual naps were always light enough to allow him a decent reaction time if something were to actually happen. The tired he was feeling now was nothing short of an ache, and he was willing to bet that if he fell asleep now he wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. 

Aside from his safety, however, there was the weight on his conscience as well, because as harsh and over-reactive as Papyrus could be, Sans also had his own share of faults. His slacking over the years had gone from involuntary to intentional after their first miserable years in Snowdin, so much so that Sans would go out of his way to piss his superiors off. 

But it was different now. Papyrus was trying to improve himself, and Papyrus never half-assed a task. It only seemed fair that Sans make an effort too. 

And that meant not falling ... 

He jolted back awake and groaned, dragging his hands down his face. Thinking about staying awake wasn’t helping. In fact the act of sitting itself seemed to be working against him. 

Sans slid slowly off his stool and moved to the open space behind his station to stretch. He pulled his arms above his head, relishing in the loud popping of his joints. Satisfied, he reached down to his toes. As far as he could anyway. He made it halfway before resigning to just hang limply. 

It was a nice position though. If he swayed side to side, it was almost like being rocked. He let himself relax into the motion, drifting left, then right, then back and forth again … 

The sensation of falling was all the warning he got before his body tumbled forward. The snow was soft enough to cushion his fall. As uncomfortable as the snow melting into his jacket was, he wanted so badly to curl up and give in to the exhaustion that was now clawing at his soul. 

Tired was a feeling he’d gotten used to over the years, but this was something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The tears pricking the corners of his eyes were just barely holding back the frantic part of him that wanted nothing more than to break down and cry until he fell asleep. This must be how babies felt, he thought. Papyrus had certainly thrown his fair share of sleepy tantrums as a child. 

He couldn’t let his thoughts drift, though. He had to get up. 

He didn’t want to. 

But he really needed to get up. 

And he really,  _ really _ did not want to. 

_ Shut up _ , he told himself. In one brief surge of energy he pushed himself onto his knees, then crawled back over to his station and used the wall to hoist himself back up. 

His soul was beginning to pulsate with the need to shut down and rest. As good as it’d made him feel, he was starting to regret accepting that tea from Papyrus. He knew it was meant as a kind gesture, but the lack of sleep it caused was making it increasingly difficult for Sans to do his job. 

He finally struggled back into his seat, legs dangling a foot above the ground. At the very least, he thought, he could keep his head propped up on his forearms so that if he did lose this battle against sleep, he would fall and wake back up again. 

In the meantime, he would close his eyes and just listen for a few minutes. 

His breathing slowed to a crawl as his mind emptied itself of thought. 

He wasn’t even aware he’d fallen asleep until he was startled awake by a fist slamming onto the table in front of him.

He nearly fell off of his stool from the jolt. It took his bleary mind a moment to focus on the pair of eyes glaring down at him. He couldn’t be sure in his post-sleep haze, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the glare seemed rather forced. He could barely comprehend the noises leaving Papyrus’s mouth, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the thinnest threads of concern laced in Papyrus’s expression.

He realized why when he glanced past his brother and saw Undyne glowering over his shoulder, watching Papyrus deliver his lecture with disgusted interest.  

All the words about how lazy and insufferable Sans was held less of their usual vigor. Undyne was clearly oblivious, but having raised Papyrus, Sans could tell his soul wasn’t in his insults.

He could still feel tiredness creeping along the edge of his vision, but by then he was alert enough to play along. He pretended to be annoyed as Papyrus went on ranting. He even added a “Piss off, it’s your fault I didn’t get any sleep” for effect.

Too much effect, apparently, because something in Papyrus’s expressions shifted. For a split second, Sans saw genuine hurt flash in his eyes, but the moment passed instantly, overtaken by the pure, unbridled anger he was used to.

Papyrus grabbed Sans roughly by the front of his jacket, pulling him up against the counter. “What did you just say to me?” he growled. 

Sans did not intend for Papyrus to take his retort seriously. That should’ve been a sign that he needed to tone the snide comments down, but a stubborn part of him was less than unwilling to grovel in front of Undyne. 

In fact, if he was being completely honest, he partially blamed her for Papyrus’s exceedingly violent nature. The day he showed any vulnerability to her would be the day Papyrus ate food from Grillby’s of his own accord.

But he had to react, so he settled for a sneer and two middle fingers.

He regretted that immediately. 

The backhand that followed came as more of a surprise than it should have.

Sans found himself on his side in the snow beneath his station, wide-eyed and clutching at his face.

He honestly hadn’t been expecting Papyrus to do that.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

He didn’t see the mortification that passed over Papyrus’s face, missed the hesitation before Papyrus put on a snarl so as not to rouse any suspicion from Undyne. She still stood behind him, arms crossed and looking grim, her very presence looming over him like a shadow.

“Get back to work,” Papyrus snapped. “Don’t let me catch you slacking off again.”  

They left Sans sitting on the ground, trying desperately to convince himself that that hit had been a part of the act, just his brother going above and beyond to convince Undyne, but ...

The sharp stinging in Sans’s cheek said otherwise, and the glower on Papyrus’s face had looked genuine. 

Sans shoved himself up.

He kicked his sentry post, causing two empty bottles to fall over onto the ground.

He wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to do anything but be there where even the desk he sat at was a reminder of his stupid, asshole, fucker of a boss.

Stars, when had he even started calling him that? Better yet, why had he agreed to call him that? Oh right, because he was weak and lazy and a pushover when it came to his brother, so what the hell did it matter if he was mistreated all the time, right?

He couldn’t keep thinking about this. He hadn’t felt this angry since ... he didn’t even know. He couldn’t think at all. The red in his vision was especially distracting.  

A distorted glimpse of his reflection in one of the fallen bottles clued him in as to why. He immediately dampened the flare in his socket.

Maybe he was overreacting. 

Or maybe not, because for years upon years he’d put up with his brother smacking him around to impress his fish-faced captain without any complaints. He knew - he’d  _ acknowledged _ \- that progress in their relationship would be slow, painstaking even, but for all the times he’d put up with Papyrus’s tantrums, not once had he ever retaliated. 

That fact had never grated on him so much, but now it was the only thought cycling through his mind. 

He was angry, and he every right to be. 

He looked down at the bottles beneath his feet. Like hell he was about to stay at his post. He didn’t even care what Papyrus would do if he found him gone during his shift. He needed to get out of there.

So he went to the one place he knew Papyrus wouldn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

 

Undyne was staring expectantly at him.

They’d walked away from Sans’s post to finish their rounds, and even after ten minutes checking stations and getting reports, Papyrus still felt numb. Every part of him was screaming to return to his brother and apologize. 

Of all the flaws he wanted to fix about himself, his flaring temper managed to get overshadowed among other issues. Only now, when Sans’s insubordination was enough to rile him up, did Papyrus remember just how explosive his temper could be. 

Usually he prided himself on his duress under pressure, and usually, he could effectively control his emotions on the job. But for reasons beyond him, something about Sans brought out the worst in him. 

A part of him still wanted to justify his actions with Sans’s comment. He knew it wasn’t true, knew Sans didn’t really hold his efforts to help last night against him. Neither of them had even thought ahead to the next day. 

In fact, if Papyrus had realized sooner that he and Undyne would be making rounds that day, he would’ve had Sans stay home to rest. 

Instead, he’d succumbed to the pressure Undyne’s presence put on him. He didn’t want to reprimand his brother for something he knew was out of Sans’s control, but he couldn’t not discipline him in front of his superior. 

And even that was something of an excuse. There were plenty of significantly better reactions he could have had, but instead he chose to lash out impulsively. 

“Papyrus.” Undyne stopped abruptly, barring an arm across his chest. 

The world seemed to still alongside them, silent and empty until Undyne filled it with an unexpectedly gentle voice.

“I’m not even going to begin to try and understand your relationship with your brother, but ... if it’s affecting your work, and you need some time off to resolve ... look, if something’s going on ...”

Papyrus could see what she was getting at, but he wasn’t very eager to ask for time off. That would mean no outlet during the day, giving him plenty of time to dwell on his inability to fix himself. 

And besides, there was no way he was giving his captain any ammunition for even a remote potential future accusation against his work ethic.

He politely declined the offer. She nodded, looking like she had more to say, but they both knew it wouldn’t be a very productive conversation if she continued, so she dropped the subject.

The rest of their route was smooth but uneventful. They picked up reports, got first-hand status checks on the goings on of Snowdin. Papyrus tried his best not to check out for most of it, but Undyne seemed to notice his mental absence. 

At the end of the day she dismissed him from their usual sparring session, claiming that she had too much paperwork to catch up on. 

Papyrus was left to his own thoughts on his trek back home through waterfall. The closer he got to home, the more anxious he grew, and the stronger his guilt became.

His mind decided to take an unusual train. Instead of jumping to accusations, he was playing out ... scenarios. Scenarios that made his soul twist, where he was going to his brother and doing something that would have been unthinkable before: simply apologizing. He wasn’t even sure if he knew how to properly apologize. His emotional vomit to Sans didn’t count - that had been more or less accidental, a split second reaction made out of panic. 

Now, he needed to do it voluntarily, and he had no idea how to say two simple words. 

His incapability was beginning to annoy him. He didn’t even realize he was muttering aloud to himself until he heard his own voice echoed back at him.

He pivoted to face the sound, conjuring a weapon on instinct.

“ _ It’s not like I’m not trying _ ,” an echo flower whispered up at him.

It sounded ... pathetic.  _ He _ sounded pathetic. What was he doing, sulking through the caves of Waterfall and complaining to himself? He should be at home, making amends, or at the very least explaining himself.

He let his weapon dissolve. 

_ It’s not like I’m not trying.  _

Listen to him, complaining about his own pitiful self as if it would do any good. It certainly wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t by any standard deserve the word “great” in his title. “Terrible” on the other hand might as well be a word made just for him.

_ It’s not like I’m not  _ –

“Shut up.”

_ Shut up shut up shut up shut _ –

“STOP. **”**

A snicker farther down the path wasn’t completely hidden by the chorus of echo flowers that had taken up an overwhelming melody of shouts. Papyrus swept a frustrated wave of bone attacks across the expanse ahead of him. 

He only succeeded in wiping out a patch of grass, making the noise echoing off the walls of the cavern unbearably loud.

He stalked forward, searching for the source of the laugh. He scraped a hole through the palm of one of his gloves when he couldn’t find one. 

He spent a minute pacing around, burning a path into the cave floor until he echo flowers’ blaring reduced itself to a soft whisper and the cavern was once again near silent. Even then he continued back and forth for a long stretch of time before he headed to the area’s namesake.

The waterfall was loud enough that he couldn’t think, enough to force his mind to relax and focus on one thing at a time. He needed to get home, first and foremost. If Sans was there, he’d apologize. If he wasn’t, he’d wait. Either way he’d fix things now, before it became a problem too big to handle. 

It was a plan, and it was simple.

He could do simple.

As he continued back, he tried to occupy his mind with trivial things: training tomorrow, cooking techniques, organizing his closet again.

Just as he passed the delineation point between Waterfall and Snowdin, more laughter caught his attention. He paused and shifted around to find the source, ready for a fight if need be. 

He stopped short of an attack when he saw that he was not in fact being mocked. Where he was expecting to find a jeering monster hiding between tree trunks, he saw instead children.

He scoffed to himself, ready to turn away, when a flash of red caught his attention, compelling him to study the kids closer. They were both of the same species, but one was clearly older, wearing a bright red jacket that he was tempted to go over and warn them about. Being young and defenseless, they might as well have been holding up a flashing sign inviting attacks. 

But he already knew approaching them wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t a monster in Snowdin who didn’t know who he was, and if full-grown adults veered from his path, children were sure to bolt on sight.

As if on cue, the older one turned and spotted him. The smile melted off of their face, replaced with dread. Without taking taking their eyes off him – Papyrus silently commended them for it – they ushered the younger monster to their feet and retreat farther into the woods, not turning to run until they’d put a substantial distance between them.

Papyrus made his way to the clearing the children were playing in. He told himself he was only curious, considering not many children were out and about in the middle of the day, and in such a public place no less. He may or may not have been walking slower than normal just to stall the time.

As he approached two indeterminable lumps of snow, he realized that they weren’t so indeterminable after all.

They were snowmen.

The amount of memories that came flooding into his mind was almost laughable. It had been ages since he’d last played in the snow, a time that had faded into the back of his memory, but those had been some of the best times of his childhood. 

He had a fleeting desire to kneel down and continue the kids’ work, to feel the familiar cool texture of snow molding in his hands and see the clear progress of a perfectly formed structure coming together. He remembered the familiar scent of the scarf Sans would give him when they went out, hear the intoxicating sound of his genuine laughter ...

The small smile tugging at the corners of his jaw vanished. 

They’d lost all of that because of him, hadn’t they. His gross turn in behavior had forced Sans away, and now his distance was only driving them further apart.

He couldn’t let that keep happening.

He knew it. 

He  _ felt _ it. 

This new resolve filled him with something he couldn’t quite place, but it was like all the confidence he had in battle and cooking combined and multiplied by a million.

He felt determined, and he was going to seize the opportunity to do something, to take that first real step toward reconciliation that he should’ve taken long ago.

The remainder of the walk home was suddenly easier. He paid no mind to anyone around him, making a beeline to their house. His hands was shaking by the time he got to the door, so much that it took him a good minute just to get the key into the lock. When it opened, he stepped inside. A quick glance around for clothing items on the floor confirmed that Sans wasn’t home yet, so he went through his ritual of removing his gloves and boots by the door before heading to his room to take off his armor. 

Normal, familiar tasks to ground his racing mind. 

He couldn’t ever recall feeling this nervous before. For as long as he could remember, he had always been confident in his ability, or at the very least proud enough to convince himself that he was more than capable. 

Now there was so much room for doubt and error. He was seeing for perhaps the first time a possibility of things not going how he wanted them to, and above all else it scared him. For once, he was going to need more than just confidence to get himself successful results.

By the time he get back downstairs, Sans still wasn’t home. Papyrus had no idea if that wasn’t normal or not. In fact he couldn’t seem to focus his attention on any thought that wasn’t his short, sweet plan. 

Stand up and apologize as soon as Sans walked in the door. 

Papyrus was still seated on the couch, running a phalange up and down the scar over his eye, when Sans finally walked through the door. Stumbled, rather, but Papyrus was too concerned with not losing his nerve to pay it much attention. 

Hoisting himself up took more effort than it should have. His bones felt leaden, his mouth cottony. He told himself it was now or never. “Sans, I need to –”

“Fuck off.”

Of all the possible outcomes, he wasn’t expecting this.

“Knew you ... couldn’t change,” Sans slurred. Papyrus finally noticed how his brother’s eye lights seemed to be having trouble focusing on him. Sans almost pitched forward when he tried to take a step forward.

In retrospect, Papyrus couldn’t even say he was surprised that he lost his temper. Something about seeing that his brother felt the need to go and drink himself stupid because of him had his mind reeling back to his old thought processes, where he was finding any and every way to blame Sans for his own misfortune.

“I can always count on you to get wasted instead of doing your job,” he bit out, narrowing his eye sockets in revulsion.

Sans scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah? Well I can always count on you to be an asshole.”

“At least I’m an asshole with standards!”

“That’s not what you said last time you fucked me!”

It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back before all hell seemed to break loose in their living room. “You insolent little –”

He lunged at Sans, who dodged easily, teleporting across the room as soon as Papyrus’s clawed hand came shooting out. His aim was slightly amiss, his inebriated mind unable to focus very well, and Sans ended up crashing into the staircase.

Papyrus took the opportunity to get him off guard, but Sans was quicker than he anticipated and he ended up in the same position as his brother a few moments earlier as Sans teleports away. This time he stumbled across the living room and tripped over a stray shoe. 

He was fast, but not fast enough. Before he could recover enough to teleport again, Papyrus was pinning him down, one gloved hand cinching the vertebrae in his neck.

“Oh Papyrus, choke me harder,” he mocked. 

Papyrus was seriously tempted to.

But almost immediately his palm pressed into something sharp. His first thought was that something on Sans’ neck is broken, which was enough to make withdraw his hand immediately. 

He realized soon after that it wasn’t a broken bone.

It was metal.

Pointed but not sharp enough to cut.

“You ... kept this?” He reached down slowly, hesitantly fingering the soft leather of the collar that was hidden partially beneath his brother’s jacket. 

How had he never noticed? It was a pretty obvious accessory, unless Sans had been keeping it concealed intentionally, in which case he still figured he should have noticed because he was the one that gave it to Sans in the first place. They also lived together, and ate together, and sometimes even slept together, and still somehow he’d never noticed.

Sans didn’t reply, and Papyrus couldn’t bring himself to look away from the collar and up at Sans’s face.

The anger was subsiding, the guilt settling back in. He really wanted to apologize, he did.

Seeing the collar, something of a gag gift he’d given Sans ages ago, was like concrete evidence that he needed to appreciate his brother significantly more than he did.

He should apologize, he really should.

It’d be so simple to just say those two words.

But the more  _ I’m sorry _ bounced around in his head, he came no closer to forcing his jaw to move.

Sans shifted below him, reminding him that he still had him pinned down. 

He removed himself carefully, settling back into a kneel a few inches from Sans. He wanted to at least offer a hand to help Sans up, but he was unable to make his body comply. 

He wanted to reach out and steady Sans when he began to sway, no doubt the result of his intoxication. 

He wanted so badly to explain himself and find a way to make it up.

Instead, he asked what Sans wants for dinner.

“Like it matters,” was the mumbled response he received.

They might never be able to move on, he realized. He was so stuck in his stubbornly static, and the trust in their relationship was beyond repair. There was no way to undo their tumultuous past, and they couldn’t just pretend it never happened. 

But Papyrus couldn’t for the life of him confront it, so he kept his mind carefully blank so at the very least he wasn’t thinking about it.

Neither of them moved.

One of them sighed, but he couldn’t tell if it was himself or Sans.

“I’m not that hungry,” came Sans’s final reply.

The phrase rattled around Papyrus’s head like the echo flowers in waterfall, repeating and repeating until the words no longer held any meaning. They managed to linger more than any insult he’d ever received, any injury he’d ever sustained.

He may or may not have said “okay.” He thought he was headed toward the kitchen, but instead of a pot handle he found a doorknob in his hand. Instead of the heat of a stove, he felt the chill from the wind.

Instead of confronting, he was avoiding.

Instead of standing his ground, he was running.


	8. Watery Introspection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is a real next chapter and not an April fools joke haha
> 
> I'm working so slowly on this I know and I apologize, but I'll say for the hundredth time that I really do plan to keep writing this, just bear with me please. Also, one more time, if you're picking this back up again and have not gone back to re-read from the beginning? please do that, cuz enough has be rewritten to warrant a re-reading. Thanks for the support, enjoy the chapter

The last place he expected to find himself was back in Waterfall.

There was an immediate environmental shift as his boots went from crunching to clacking, and the wind that seemed to reflect his turbulent state of mind no longer tore at him from behind. He walked on absently, unaware of trivial matters like distance and location.

He passed the waterfall, narrowly avoiding being swept away by a falling boulder.

He passed the bridge flowers lined neatly in place, sturdy beneath his scrambled thoughts.

As he made his way through the cavernous walkways, his mind played and skipped like a broken record, jumping from one thought to another but always coming back to how terrible of a brother he was.

He passed the tiny, worn shop that belonged to the old turtle, who didn’t appear to be present.

Several paces more and the room opened up, blindingly bright. His feet dragged on, scraping across the floor, heavy and leaden.

It took him a while to realize he was muttering to himself, but unlike the previous time, he didn’t start or even react when an echo flower sent his voice back at him. He glanced briefly at the field of ruined flowers that he was responsible for. Just another beautiful thing he’d damaged beyond repair.

Because that’s what Sans was - beautiful, amazing, a light where there were none - and he’d snuffed it out without thinking twice. He could barely recall the feelings of elation and utter joy that surfaced whenever Sans would praise him, would look at him with such unbridled adoration, like he was the coolest thing in the underground - no, in the world. Could scarcely recall how Sans would simply be there, was always there. Somewhere along the line he’d forgotten that feeling, forgotten just how amazing his big brother was. And what kind of brother had he been in return? Selfish, bratty, ungrateful for the hundreds of sacrifices Sans made for him every day.

“What am I doing?” he sighed to himself. Better yet, what should he be doing? Making amends with his drunk brother who so clearly hated him, and justifiably so? Certainly walking away wasn’t doing any good. But what, then, was he supposed to do?

There was no outlet for petty emotions in their world save for violence, and that, majority of the time, ended in at least one casualty. Talking was proving to be just as ineffective what with his inability to do even that properly. He let his constant anger get the better of him and the only way he knew how to deal with that was violence. It was a vicious cycle he didn’t know how to escape.

“I messed up, I  _know_ ,” he said, dragging both of his hands down his face. He was out in Waterfall doing who knew what, going who knew where. “Just apologize, damnit. But … I don’t … “ For goodness’ sake, he couldn’t even talk to himself properly.

He poured on speed, stalking briskly along the path until he approached the walkway that lead into a room of inky blackness. He finally began to concern himself with his location, coming to the realization that he’d almost stepped into completely unfamiliar territory.

Anytime he needed to visit hotland he took the ferry, and now that he was standing before the cavern he could distinctly recall Sans warning him not to wander around there as a child. Every day when Sans would reluctantly leave Papyrus to his own devices, he did his best to encourage Papyrus to stay in one spot. However Papyrus was a restless monster, so Sans often had to settle for the best thing he could provide: a warning. Papyrus could explore all of the nooks and crannies across Waterfall that a monster his size could hide so long as he never did either of two things: get on the ferry, or go into “that dark place,” to give it a simple name a kid could understand.

He’d adhered to those rules for the most part, excepting one time when he’d gone twenty paces in on a dummy dare (only dummies refused, and Papyrus was no dummy) from Undyne. The details of the experience had for the most part escaped him, but the one thing he would never forget was the strange chattering he’d heard just before something furry had brushed by his legs. He’d bolted, leaving a guffawing Undyne at the entrance to brood back at his and Sans’ hideout.

Standing at the entrance now, the only thing keeping him from simply walking in was the rationalization that if he were to die now, he’d never give sans the apology he deserved.

For a while he stood there, unmoving, mind devoid of thought. The light emitting from the room behind cast a deep shadow before him. He took his time tracing all of the sharp features made soft by the image, but even that was only distracting for so long. Once the outline began to tremble with faint light, he made the decision to turn around and leave.

He dragged his feet back through every section of Waterfall, purposefully letting the minutes surpass him, prolonging his arrival and inevitable confrontation. As he passed the waterfall and approached the unmanned sentry station, something subtle in the corner of his vision caught his eye. Veered off to the left was a narrow tunnel that blended effortlessly into the path.

Just the sight of it sent old memories resurfacing. There was a time when Papyrus would spend nearly all of his time hiding out in the room beyond the tunnel. There was no solid ground, nothing to keep him from falling over the bridges that made up a path in front of the waterfall, but as a child the safety hazard hadn’t concerned him in the slightest.

He was larger now, filled up a lot more space, but he liked to think he wasn’t any less agile. A glance to either side of him confirmed that no monsters were in sight or headed his way, so he ducked his way into the corridor.

It was a much tighter fit than he remembered, even taking his growth into account, but he managed to pull himself through and onto the other side.

A voice at the back of his head kept nagging, reminding him that he had something more important to be doing, but for a moment this was a welcome distraction. Maybe afterward he’d be ready for a confrontation, or so he told himself.

As he stood back up to his full height, Papyrus took in his surroundings. The wood beneath his feet was slicker than he recalled, and he made a note to tread carefully. The room itself felt smaller, less grand and less echoey. The air felt damper, it seemed darker, and the sound of the waterfall was a lot more deafening. In fact, the only things that still seemed the same were the spray of the waterfall’s mist and the lone echo flower that sat and the far end of the path.

He’d never thought to question its presence, never wondered who placed it there or how it survived on a wooden platform. It mattered as little now as it had all those years ago.

Placing one careful foot before the other, Papyrus made his way across the platforms to the other side of the room. The closer he get to the flower, the clearer it became, still standing upright and glowing soft as ever.

If he nudged it, he wondered, would he hear his own juvenile voice echoed back at him? Or would another monster have since come through and spoken over it. He couldn’t even begin to guess at the last thing he might have said, assuming it was still his words recorded in the flower.

In the end curiosity wasn’t enough to override the sinking in his gut at the prospect of being reminded yet again just how far he’d fallen since his youth.

He turned instead and gazed up at the ceiling - where there was presumably a ceiling, anyway. The expanse above him was just as dark and unrevealing as the expanse below. He peered over the edge and wondered for perhaps the first time how far down it went.

He voiced his musings to himself, completely ignoring the echo from the flower behind him. As he inched closer to the edge, instead of apprehensive he felt rather drawn to the darkness below him. There was no way to tell when it stopped, if it ever did. Was that even possible? It had to end somewhere, surely. But wouldn’t that be fascinating, just an infinite void with no destination …

No destination, no expectations, no pressures. No thinking.

His entire life, he was always searching for something to prove, for a purpose and an end goal.

He walked back to the center of the room, his back to the waterfall, and sat down gingerly on the edge.

Right now, not having to think sounded rather nice. If he had nowhere to go, no social pressures or obligations weighing on his back, he wouldn’t have to worry about letting anyone down. It was a quite a thought.

It would be so easy, too, to slide just a bit further and let himself tip over the edge. Something like curiosity curled around the thought, compelled him to do just that, to slip over the side and find out what was waiting in the earth below him.

He closed his eyes. Spent a minute breathing in the earthy scent of the cavern, concentrating on the pricks of water hitting the back of his skull, listening to the crash of the falls and trying to follow its sound as far down as he could.

As peaceful as it was, the gnawing at the back of his mind had turned to biting, and he could no longer ignore that there was something he needed to be doing. Reluctantly, he scooted back brought one leg up beneath him, trying to draw as much calm from the atmosphere as he could before he was thrown right back into the heart of anxiety.

The sudden rustle behind him was so faint he almost missed it. Almost.

But it turned out that second of hesitation was all his assailant needed to get one good shove on him.

Ordinarily, he would have stood his ground with barely any effort. The push he received wasn’t even particularly hard, but he was perched unevenly on the platform as it was, right leg hanging over the side, the other folded beneath him as he prepared to stand.

In the split second before completely losing his balance, the only thought to cross his mind was that they should have pushed more directly if they wanted him over the edge. It was a panicked push, however, their chance to act likely coming to a close as he get ready to rise. As a result, he fell somewhat diagonally.

His reflexes were one thing he could always rely on. This moment was no different. The hand he was using to keep himself steady was still rested on the platform, and unlike before there was no hesitation in the way it darted out to take hold of the edge.

He could feel the point the rest of his body caught up with gravity, a jarring sensation when the magic that held his joints together threatened to break, all the strain isolated in his left shoulder.

A more diligent assailant would have broken his hold on the platform immediately, and although he couldn’t see them from his angle, he heard the panicked gasp that indicated their surprise. It was all the time he needed to swing his other arm around the side and take hold.

His next action should have been to hoist himself up immediately and face his attacker, but instead of rising over the side swiftly, he was stopped abruptly mid-rise. His first assumption was that the assailant was pushing him down, but it was a pull, he realized, that kept him stuck in limbo.

He only had a moment to confirm that his scarf had caught on a nail sticking out of of the platform. The monster above him finally gathered their bearings and darted down to break his grip. The scarf wasn’t coming off without some effort, but he only had one hand to spare and he needed it to keep his attacker at bay. Never before had he found himself in such a compromised position, and for the first time since his childhood, tendrils of fear began to take hold.

Thank the stars the assailant didn’t seem to know what they were doing, their plan obviously didn’t include him fighting back. The way they pushed at his head, angled backward without any leverage whatsoever, Papyrus would guess they were trying desperately not to be seen beneath their hooded cloak.

He had half a mind to reach for the cloak just to pull it off. It was that anger, that incredulity at the idea of a monster with so little dignity attacking anonymously, that fueled his next actions. The claws of his right hand dug into the wood as hard as they could before he left go of his left to swing down. With enough momentum, he came back full force, this time swinging his leg over the side to hook his heel on the platform.

The assailant was either smart enough or scared enough to step back as he did, for Papyrus’s next move was to grab for the loose fabric of their cloak to haul them over the edge behind him. His fingers just barely grazed the front of it, not close enough to get a real grip, but their new distance gave him the opening he needed to quickly rework the scarf around his neck.

The faint thought to simply rip it crossed his mind, but for reasons he wasn’t able to focus on, that wasn’t even an option, survival instinct not enough to override the irrational value he held in the red piece of cloth.

He always wore it loose for this very reason, though. If he couldn’t leave the house without it, he had to at least make sure that no one he fought could take advantage of its hold. It took a bit of effort from the hand still holding onto the platform to reduce some of the pull before he was able to slip the scarf from around his neck.

The tail end of it tumbled down as he let it go to free his hand. The part of his mind that was neither calm instinct nor ever-growing panic broke through just enough to scream for him to catch it, to get the scarf and make sure it was safe, even though the more rational part knew that it was still caught on the nail, still hanging quite literally by a thread.

The moment he got his left band back onto the edge of the platform was when the odds slipped even further from his favor.

If not for the slick surface of the aged wood, he might have made it up and over the edge without a hitch. But, as his luck would have it, as soon as he tried to pull up with the foot that was still hooked over the side, instead of holding its ground his heel slipped and came right back down with the rest of his body.

The assailant seemed too petrified to get any closer, but it didn’t even matter, gravity doing all the work to make sure he didn’t climb back up. The sudden drop was enough to pull his left arm down with the rest of his body, leaving once again only one hand to support the weight of his body, armor included.

The toll the encounter was taking shouldn’t have been so great - ordinarily it _wouldn’t _have been so great - but the lack of sleep or sufficient nutrients was making itself known. His magic was significantly diminished, and unlike fleshy monsters who could build muscle, magic was the only thing holding his entire body together. If it was weak, if it failed, there was nothing in his body to compensate. In fact if his magic stores got too low, there was a point where he might even begin to fall apart. He didn’t know what it took to cross that threshold, but now was about the worst time to find out.

In the end it was too much. His arm was on fire, it felt like his shoulder would be torn from its socket any second, and the magic leaking from his skull in the form of sweat wasn’t helping the fact that he couldn’t muster up enough energy to get his other arm back up, let alone pull himself up if he succeeded.

The other monster must have sensed his plight, for it was then that they chose to approach again. This time the fight had drained out of Papyrus. He was panting hard, his entire body ached, on the verge of collapse.

This, it seemed, was it for him.

He didn’t even give the monster a chance to step on his hand before he let go of his own accord.

The last thing he saw of them was a glimpse of yellow, so quick he might have just imagined it. Either way it didn’t matter.

He felt oddly at peace, free falling through the air. Everything around him seemed to go silent, and if he closed his eyes it almost felt like he was floating.

The farther he fell, the more the light above him faded, until it was nothing more than a pinprick in the center of his vision as the space around him grew dark, darker, yet darker.

Finally, he gave in, shut his sockets for good and let the air embrace him.

Perhaps Sans would be better off without him now.


End file.
